


Founding Fathers - prompts

by JamesJohnEye



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-12-11 04:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamesJohnEye/pseuds/JamesJohnEye
Summary: Filled prompts in the Founding Fathers universe.





	1. Knife, bow, holler.

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for some prompts on tumblr.  
> I got some prompts from tumblr. 
> 
> And here they are.
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jamesjohneye  
> if you want to leave some, too.

 

* * *

 

Prompt: (anon) **_Dare + Shane teaching him things_**

 

[Here on Tumblr](https://jamesjohneye.tumblr.com/post/163790436412/prompts-request-1)

 

* * *

 

 

There’s blood on his lips, on his chin, dripping down his neck. It covers his fingers, too, because he’d tried to wipe it away earlier. It almost looks black in the dim lighting. He rotates his hand, wriggles his fingers, wonders why his own blood is just as disgusting as anyone else’s.

There are sounds coming from outside his cell. The rest of his family has gathered around the tables, sharing food and stories. They usually eat outside, together with the people from Woodbury and everyone else they’ve found on the road. But some nights they separate themselves, huddle together when nerves fray and hands are only steadied by the company of their family members.

He can hear Glenn laughing with Hershel.

Beth is singing a song while Rick cooks dinner.

Daryl closes his eyes and wishes he could be down there with them. That he could sit with Carl, hold Judith, lean against Maggie’s side when he gets tired. But there’s blood dripping over his lips from his nose and he’s not allowed to sit with them.

Maybe just the blood wouldn’t have been a problem, but the fact that he’d screamed at Hershel is. He had called him things he shouldn’t have.

He regrets that now, of course. His blood feels colder. He can think more clearly now. But he’s too proud to go back down the stairs, to apologize and ask the man to please look at his nose because it hurts and feels funny.

He’s had worse.

He doesn’t need a stranger to tell him about _broken bones_ and _time_ and _nothing he can do but wait_.

A door opens, closes. Heavy boots on concrete. A shotgun being put in a corner.

Daryl presses his eyes closed harder, so hard it hurts. He licks at the blood on his lips and nearly gags when he hears that the footsteps are coming up the stairs. To his cell. That they stop for a second.

Warm lights blooms behind his eyelids. There’s an oil lamp hanging in the corner of his cell. Rick had left it there after he’d shoved the youngest Dixon inside, never closing the door but with eyes so cold that Daryl had just sat down on Carl’s bed, shaking with anger but not getting up again.

The footsteps come closer. They stop before him.

Daryl slowly opens his eyes.

Shane looks at him. There’s no smile on his face, no wicked grin, no fondness to make everything about him softer. He reaches down, grabs the rag from the bed and wets it with water coming from the bottle dangling from his belt.

Daryl doesn’t flinch when Shane grab his chin to tilt his head back. He does flinch when he wipes the blood away from his nose.

‘I’m sorry,’ the cop murmurs and is gentler with the boy’s lips and chin. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Got mad,’ Daryl says because it’s true and he knows Shane can tell when he’s lying.

‘Why?’

‘Just did.’

‘Yeah,’ Shane sighs and throws the dirty rag onto Daryl’s bed. ‘I’m not going to play this game tonight, buddy.’

‘Ain’t playin’ no game.’

Anger starts to slip into Shane’s eyes, turning them darker. ‘No, you just beat a kid up for no reason.’

‘Weren’t no _kid_.’

‘He’s fifteen, Dare.’

That almost makes Daryl laugh because he isn’t even fifteen yet and he took that guy down with one well-aimed kick and then kept him down with a lot of hits while sitting on his chest. It hadn’t been hard. Easy, even. He wonders whether he knows he’s been beaten by a thirteen year old.

‘That’s not something to be proud of,’ Shane warns because he always _knows_. ‘Why did you do it?’

Daryl shrugs. He looks at his fingers, still covered in his own blood. The kid got one good hit in just when Glenn and Rick had grabbed his arms and shoulders, dragging him off him. That had only made him madder. Fighting dirty like that. If he goes around tomorrow telling everyone he’s managed to break his nose the fight, he’s going to get it again.

‘ _Dare_.’

‘Kept runnin’ his mouth.’

Shane sits down beside him on the bed. ‘What did he say?’

‘Just shit he don’t know nothing about,’ Daryl murmurs while scratching at the blood that is drying under his nails. ‘Kept makin’ these damn jokes. They weren’t funny,’ he says as he glances at the cop out of the corner of his eye. ‘So I… so I shut him up, is all.’

Shane nods. ‘Okay. So he kept making jokes you didn’t like. Did you ask him to stop?’

Daryl narrows his eyes. ‘I told him to shut the fuck up.’

‘But did you ask him to _stop_?’

‘Yeah! I told him to shut the hell up!’

Shane sighs, ‘Dare… I know you think that that is a really clear message, but not everyone can read you like we can, okay? You need to be clearer about-‘

‘You gonna put this on me?’ Daryl snarls, outraged. ‘I told him! I told him twice, even, and then I did it for him! He shouldn’t be talking about – It weren’t his business in the first place, so he shouldn’t have been running his mouth at all, but he were and -‘

‘Calm down,’ the cop says with a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I know you get frustrated but-‘

‘Why are you always pinning everything on me? He fucked up! He thought he could get away with it and he didn’t and now he’s crying somewhere like the damn pussy he is and you’re taking his side? You fucking pig! This weren’t on me! Let me go! _Let go of me_!’

Shane shakes his head, pulls his hand back and gets up. ‘Stay here until you’ve cooled down some.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ Daryl spits out but he stays where he is.

 

 

‘It was just a joke,’ Carl says as he leans against the door. ‘I make that joke all the time.’

‘That doesn’t make it funny.’

‘You almost fractured one of his ribs.’

‘Almost doesn’t count. I either did or didn’t. And I _didn’t_ ,’ Daryl glares at his best friend. ‘Leave me the hell alone.’

 

 

There’s something weird about fighting with Shane, Daryl has found out. It can last for _days_.

With Will, it was easy. He was either angry or he wasn’t. When he was, Daryl would know by the hand curling around the belt, by the blinds closing in their trailer, of the dreaded question whether he was ready for it. In a sense, it was better like that, he supposes. There was a beginning, the rage building up so quickly that Daryl hardly ever had time to apologize or fix his mistake.

And there was an end. Blood on bathroom tiles, soaking his underwear and jeans, or just stinging pain that would fade. There wouldn’t be antibiotics, or loving touches, or whispered words about sorrow and regret, but a twinkie would land in his lap while they were watching TV later and Daryl would still know even though Will couldn’t look him in the eye.

But the anger simmers in Shane’s eyes for days. Daryl still recognizes it even though it usually sours into disappointment after hours.

It’s not that Shane ignores him.

It’s not that he refuses to look at him.

It’s just that everything feels colder. The answers are shorter. The looks fleeting.

It makes Daryl want to crawl out of his own skin.

 

 

After three days, he caves.

‘He kept making these jokes about how you were my dad,’ he tells Shane. ‘He wouldn’t shut up.’

‘Thank you for telling me,’ Shane says before he walks away.

 

 

The boy looks at him warily.

Daryl grits his teeth and rubs the knuckles over his thigh nervously. ‘Sorry I hit ya,’ he says.

 

 

His cheeks burn when he steps into Hershel’s cell. He feels so uncomfortable that it makes him angry. His fists itch.

‘Hello, Daryl,’ Hershel says as he closes his book.

‘Sorry I said nasty things to you,’ he says quickly because he means it but also because he’s scared that something else will come out when the anger finally wins again. He runs away before Hershel can ask about his nose.

 

 

‘Why are you crying?’

‘ _Ain’t_ ,’ Daryl snaps while he wipes his tears away.

‘Not going to play this game,’ Shane warns again but he still sits down next to the boy. ‘I heard you apologized to Gerard for hitting him. And to Hershel for being mean. That was nice of you.’

‘Whatever.’

The cop ignores him. ‘What do you do when someone does something you don’t like?’

Daryl glares at him.

‘No, seriously. What do you do?’

‘Make ‘em fuckin’ stop,’ Daryl grumbles even though he knows that’s not the right answer. Not anymore at least. He buries his hands into his hair and pulls lightly at it, so frustrated with himself. Everyone from Woodbury is already looking at him like he’s some wild dog, something Shane had pulled out of the gutter and brought inside, a rabid animal. He can’t really blame them. Everyone knows he jumped the wall with Rick and Michonne, that he’d gunned their people down to get to Glenn and Maggie.

And everyone knows he was Will’s kid.

Is, even though the man is dead now.

They will forever share blood. He won’t even be able to shake that. Doesn’t really want to either.

His dad wouldn’t have cared that everyone looked at him funny. Maybe he’d even been proud of it. But he sure as hell wouldn’t have cared that Shane hadn’t said more than four words to him in three days. Wouldn’t have been crying over it like some damn pussy.

‘Well,’ Shane shifts and loops his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, pulls the boy into his side. He smiles when the Dixon doesn’t even fight it but buries himself into his warmth instead. Bony shoulders and sharp elbows poke him as the boy curls into his larger frame. ‘I want you to try something next time, okay? When someone does or says something you don’t like, I want you to say: please stop, I don’t like this joke. Or please stop, I don’t want to talk right now.’

‘What’s the fucking point? I told him to shut the fuck up! And I keep tellin’ people to leave me the hell alone!’

‘People can’t always tell when you’re joking or not, bud,’ Shane tells him. He smiles and nuzzles the boy, ‘not everyone knows you as good as we do.’

‘Don’t know shit about me,’ Daryl grumbles.

Shane laughs and ruffles his hair. ‘Keep tellin’ yourself that, buddy.’

 

 

They’re walking towards the gate. Shane carries Daryl’s crossbow while the boy checks his pack, rattling off the stuff he needs to go out to hunt on his own. Food, his jacket, the flare gun, the radio, extra bullets, extra gun, extra knife, rope, the repair kit for his bow, a map, two bottles of water and dry socks for when he has to cross the river.

‘Extra batteries for the radio?’ Shane asks.

‘I’ve got extra everything, I’m like a goddamn mule with this pack,’ Daryl groans. ‘This thing’s gonna slow me down so much, the only thing I’ll be catching are damn snails.’

‘Here drama queen,’ Shane grins as he holds the extra battery out to him. ‘Put it in your pocket.’

‘Daryl!’ Patrick comes running up to them, waving wildly, obviously excited to have caught the Dixon before his hunt. ‘Daryl! Hey,’ he pants when he’s close. ‘There’s kind of – like – there’s a party in our cellblock tonight, just for fun, you know? And there’s going to be lemonade and Beth promised to sing, so we can dance and they’re going to tell ghost stories and Carl said he’d come, so I thought – maybe you’d like to come, too! I mean,’ he glances at Shane, ‘everyone is invited of course, but-‘

‘Please stop,’ Daryl says with a glance at the boy. ‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’

Shane winces.

Patrick looks stunned.

Daryl wipes his nose on the back of his hand. ‘I’ll see you at the damn party, okay? I still got half a candy bar from Michonne. I’ll share,’ he mutters before continuing to walk towards the gate.

Patrick’s stunned look melts into a bewildered smile, ‘er- okay! I guess. Yeah! See you tonight then….’

Shane shoots him an apologetic look before opening the first fence for the youngest Dixon. He pauses at the second to give him his bow. ‘Maybe make the statement a bit more general, Dare. Like, I don’t want to talk right now. Not, I don’t want to talk _to you._ ’

‘Why?’ Daryl frowns. He puts his pack and bow down. ‘I always want to talk to you. Just not all of them, ya know?’

Shane lifts an eyebrow.

Daryl grits his teeth and blushes.

Shane smirks.

‘Asshole,’ Daryl laughs before he jumps up, looping his arms around the cop’s neck and hugging him tightly.

The man chuckles and hugs him back, squeezing him hard. ‘Be careful out there, kid,’ he mutters into his warm neck. ‘Check in every hour.’

‘I know the rules.’

They look at each other with matching grins, press their foreheads together, lips forming the exact same words.

Knife.

Bow.

Holler.


	2. Rude

 

* * *

**Anon: "Rude Penis" ficlet -  thank you.**

  
For Aby. Because I’m always telling you that you’re terrible, and I just want you to know that I really mean that.  
This is on you.

  
( <3 )

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s one of the classic movie moments come to real life. One person is frozen near the bed in utter terror while the other freezes on the threshold after pushing the door open.

The door that really should have been locked.

Paul is the one standing by the bed. His hair is dripping wet from the shower he has just taken in Maggie’s bathroom. The woman is visiting Alexandria with Hershel and Enid, and had given him permission to use her room and bathroom so he won’t have to use the ones in the communal trailer. It’s small blessings like these that give him the greatest joy these days.

So he’d taken advantage of not having to get dressed in a cramped space by leaving his clothes on the bed and wrapping himself in just a towel when he’d padded back into the room after a quick, hot shower.

But of course there was that _one_ second. That one second that he’d thrown the towel onto the bed and had grabbed his underwear, pulling one leg up to step in and –

‘What the- Oh my God! _Are you fucking crazy_? What the fuck are you doing here?’ Daryl sounds horrified.

Paul curses under his breath and quickly puts his underwear on before whirling around.

The teenager has covered his eyes with one hand. Every exposed inch of his face is bright red.

Paul wipes a hand over his own face, cursing his entire existence before laughing a little to himself. Of course this would happen, and of course the boy is horrified. He’s always talking the big talk, always watching, but catching an eyeful had been a step too far. Paul smirks as he silently puts his shirt on. ‘What the hell, Dare,’ he says, trying to sound distressed. ‘What are _you_ doing here?’

‘I fucking live here!’

‘You were supposed to be at the Kingdom and you don’t live _in this room_!’

‘Neither do you!’ Daryl snipes back, eyes still covered and cheeks impossibly red. ‘I was staying at the Kingdom for a week, you fucking knew that.’

‘The trip back takes two days!’

‘ _Khamsin_!’ Daryl moans, ‘I took Khamsin, fucking fastest horse on the goddamn planet. This is so unfair. I was just going to grab Hershey’s giraffe before heading to Rick’s. Maggie forgot it and the kid’s been throwing fits. You dressed yet? Goddamn.’

‘Almost, keep your eyes closed,’ Paul warns even though he has already slipped into his shirt and jeans. He’s putting his socks on now, amused by the awkwardness of the teenager.

Daryl groans and slumps against the doorpost but keeps his eyes covered. ‘Why’re you naked in Maggie’s bedroom? That’s so rude, good lord. Please put your penis away, okay?’

‘Rude?’ Paul echoes incredulously as he puts his boots on quietly.

‘’s a rude penis in my damn face.’

Paul rolls his eyes and grabs his knives and vest from the bed before walking over to the teenager. ‘Maybe you should learn to knock before entering a bedroom. And,’ he stops before him to lean in close, ‘I think you’d know if it was in your damn face, stop lying, Dixon.’

Daryl’s nose is inches from his own. They’re at the same height now, the boy no longer a boy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul can see how Daryl slowly lifts his hand. It trembles a little, fingers twitching as he reaches out to touch Paul’s side, obviously aiming for his chest. The moment he feels the fabric there, he drops his other hand. Blue eyes are narrowed in annoyance and in stark contrast with his reddened skin.

‘Asshole,’ he says when he sees that Paul is dressed and decent.

‘Me and mine are not the ones being rude right now,’ the scout smirks as he glances down between them.

Daryl’s blush intensifies, spreading down his neck to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. He shoves Paul’s shoulder roughly, ‘oh _haha_ , fuck off. I hate you.’

‘Yeah,’ Paul leers, ‘it really shows. See you around.’

‘I’m seventeen!’ Daryl shouts after him. ‘Four more years!’

‘Never gonna catch up, Dare.’

‘It’s all about reaching the magical twenty-one!’

The only answer he gets is Paul’s fading laughter.

 

 


	3. Mortified

 

* * *

 

 

**Canoncannon; Jesus + Dare kissing him.**

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s easy enough to get out of his make-shift prison, easier still to break into the armory and check it out. The amount of weapons there makes his head spin. Rows and rows of automatic guns, a crate with grenades and boxes filled with bullets. There are radio’s, flashlights and flare guns, two crossbows, various knives and machete’s. Batteries are charging in a corner, there’s a barrel filled with bolts.

He takes one out and twirls it around. It looks handmade.

With a small frown, Paul quietly slips out of the house again, heading to his next destination. The door to the garage rattles a bit when he pulls it up but he rolls under it and Alexandria sleeps on. Moonlight falls through the small windows, just enough to allow him to see the various shelves. Almost all are empty.

They’re running low on food, Paul realizes. It makes them less interesting as a trading partner for now but he knows that everything can change. Maybe their harvest will be spoiled, maybe the kingdom won’t be able to deliver, maybe these people hit a goldmine somewhere down the line. Or maybe Hilltop will need those weapons after all, if Gregory ever changes his mind.

Allies are more important now than ever.

He thinks about Rick Grimes, who had bound his hands together and had left him on the side of the road. Anyone else would have needed a couple of minutes working on those ropes, but they would have gotten away eventually. He hadn’t left him to die. Of course the ropes had been loose the second Rick had walked back to the truck, but that’s not the point.

He thinks about the boy, too. Daryl, who thinks he might be fifteen but isn’t sure. Strong and capable, obviously used to being Rick’s right hand man in tight situations. His youth had only showed when he’d mourned his smashed soda cans. He’d said it had been a request but Paul couldn’t be sure he had been telling the truth. He’d left him with a broken, half-empty can though. In case he got thirsty.

They hadn’t killed him. Hadn’t robbed him of his knives, leaving him defenseless with the dead. They hadn’t left him to die out there.

Paul wonders what the world has become that just that fact makes people _good_.

It’s time to find Rick Grimes. They should talk.

 

 

He only knows that he’s in the right house when he picks the lock of a bedroom door, steps inside and spots the shadowy figure of Daryl on the bed. The boy is asleep, face turned towards the window, wild hair covering most of it. His mouth is slightly open, slack with relaxation. One of his hands is resting on the softness of his belly, fingertips dipping below his waistband of his jeans. The other hand is next to him on the pillow, fingers twitching in his sleep.

He’s still wearing his boots and belt. The large knife is almost hidden in the darkness, save for the soft gleam whenever the boy moves his hips.

Paul glances around the room.

There’s a faint smell of cigarettes lingering in the air.

His gaze falls on the magazine on the end of Daryl’s bed.

He turns around with a slight smirk playing around his lips and shakes his head as he moves towards the next room. Teenagers, he thinks. Some things never change.

 

 

There is something utterly fascinating about Daryl Dixon, Paul decides when they pile back into the RV. Not even fifteen years old but fearless and determined. Sure of himself as he’d led his group from the wreckage to the right building where the people from Hilltop had been hiding. Grim determination in his eyes when he’d drawn his knife and took his spot right behind Glenn.

When they’d first met, Paul had thought that the boy was Rick’s. Their easy banter and way of working together reminded him of family ties. The matching blue eyes turned out to just be coincidence. Of course he belongs to the man’s group, his family, but Paul smiles when he sees the boy with Maggie and Glenn. The way Maggie will absent-mindedly adjust the backwards baseball cap while the boy eats his disgusting oatmeal cookie, or lick her finger before rubbing some dirt off his cheek. The boy barely notices even though he still looks a bit wary when Abraham claps him on the shoulder. It’s even easier to see with Glenn. Their conversation flows easily, sometimes silently with glances and smirks and quirked eyebrows which will leave Daryl giggling silently while Glenn shakes his head fondly. Or the way Glenn nods at Maggie before they head into the building, a silent promise to look after their boy.

And Daryl did the same thing, having the man’s back.

They came out of the building, knives dripping with blood. Daryl had burst through the door first, a big grin on his face as he vaulted a small cabinet and looked up at the sun, soaking up its warmth. The rest had followed suit. Less than ten minutes and the building had been cleared. When Paul had gone over to thank the teenager, he’d shrugged it off. There had only been ten walkers inside, no big deal. He’d missed the look of pride Rick shot him as he trudged back to Maggie’s side.

And now he’s sitting with his family again, next to Maggie while talking animatedly about something. Blue eyes sparkling, the horror of dark buildings and walkers already forgotten.

The boy is tough and soft at the same time, Paul thinks. He’s fearless in the face of walkers but still ducks his head shyly when Harlan thanks him. Youthful innocence still lingers in his bones. It shines brightly when Daryl doesn’t understand a word and kicks Glenn’s boot to demand an explanation. The fact that Glenn doesn’t need to ask what he wants makes Paul smile.

 

 

It doesn’t take long before Paul sees Daryl in action himself.

One moment the boy’s eyes light up while he gushes about the fact that Hilltop has a cow, and the next moment he twists someone’s arm hard enough to break it. The eyes are dark and cold when he hears the bone snap and the guy scream in agony. He doesn’t seem horrified when Rick slashes Ethan’s throat, or when his leader stands up, covered in blood to look around and check on his family. He just draws his gun and puts his foot on the man’s chest, mindful not to touch the broken arm but still pointing the weapon at his face. When the situation is under control, the boy helps Abraham to his feet again.

‘You’re one tough son of a bitch, you know that? Thanks, kid,’ the burly man says as they clasp hands.

‘Ain’t no kid,’ Daryl counters.

And Paul fears he might be right.

 

 

The process of creating a partnership with Alexandria is hard and Gregory is not making things easier at the moment.

Paul slowly walks up the staircase of Barrington House, one hand trailing over the banister. It’s been a long day. There’s so much going on at the moment. Rick’s new group and Gregory’s injury, their missing man who has been taking hostage, and Negan himself looming in the background. There are whispers about Gregory’s leadership he needs to address with his own people. There are people asking him about the runs, about the next shipment, about chores and tasks and everything else. He needs some time to figure it all out. So he heads up the staircase and then up another and another until he reaches the attic.

He’s surprised to find someone else sitting on his spot. Daryl Dixon, with his boots on the railing, sketchbook in his lap and pencil clenched between his teeth. The dark hair is kept out of his face by the backwards cap, faded due to the sun but almost black in the faint starlight. He’s doodling, rubbing his finger over the page to smudge a line, feet wobbling to a tune that isn’t playing.

Fifteen, Paul marvels again because he can’t quite wrap his head around it. Not when he’s seen the boy break someone’s arm like it was nothing just a couple of hours ago.

A part of him wants to leave. The boy seems to be lost in thought and Paul suspects he came up here for the same reason he has; for some peace and quiet, but he can’t help but be intrigued. He tells himself that he needs to get to know this new group better, that that is why he searches for something to say now. He settles on something he has already figured out, curious about how much the boy will reveal about himself.

‘So you’re Glenn’s,’ Paul says as he steps into the light of the moon and stars.

Daryl glances up warily. His eyes are small, little slits now that has narrowed them suspiciously. The shoulders are broad but curled in, his posture atrocious as he hunches over his sketchbook.

‘I didn’t know what to think when Maggie asked me for some paper and a pencil,’ Paul offers with a smile, trying to come across as friendly and harmless to soothe the boy’s nerves. ‘You like to draw?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He looks down at his drawing and adds a detail in the right corner.

Curiosity drives Paul closer. He wants to see what the boy is drawing but doesn’t want to ask. So he sits down next to him, carefully watching his facial expression for any signs of hostility or even fear. There is none. The boy doesn’t look at him but keeps working on his drawing. He holds the pencil wrong but that doesn’t stop him from drawing fluid lines on the paper.

‘When I first saw you, I thought you were Rick’s,’ Paul says when he sits down. It’s true, of course, but the answer he gets surprises him.

‘Ain’t nobody’s no more.’

Unease creeps into Paul’s spine, making him grip the railing a little tighter. He’s not sure why that is. ‘Did something happen between you and Glenn?’

Daryl scoffs. ‘No. I just ain’t his, a’right? I’m a Dixon, just…. I’m a Dixon, not a Rhee, or Grimes or Ford or… not a Walsh, even. A Dixon.’

‘Abraham said you had a brother,’ he recalls. _One that is old enough to drive_ , the man had joked. _The other Dixon_ , so Paul guesses that it’s just the two of them now.

‘Yeah,’ Daryl looks down at his drawing and lets his pencil tap against the paper.

‘Blood matters, right?’ He hates himself for the stereotype the boy conjures in his mind, but the teenager seems to come from a family where those things still had great value. ‘You’re both Dixon’s, so…’

‘We always say that, right?’ Daryl bites out. ‘The most important thing; blood. But then shit happens and they know things and suddenly it doesn’t matter at all and you’re just… not, anymore.’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Paul says softly.

‘Pretty soon I won’t be a Dixon at all, I think. Just Daryl,’ he lets the pencil drag over the paper, creating a stark, jagged line over his drawing. ‘It don’t matter,’ he wipes his hair out of his face and glares at the stars, and then at Paul. ‘Stop stickin’ your nose in. Ain’t nothing to you.’

He still doesn’t understand but decides not to push the matter. There’s anxiety practically radiating from the teenager and Paul hates the way his mouth turns into a thin stripe as he presses his lips together. It almost makes him want to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, telling him that whatever it is, it’ll be okay.

For a second he thinks about calling Glenn or Maggie up but he disregards that thought too.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asks instead.

‘No.’

The answer is short but said without hesitation. Paul is glad. He likes being up here and tells the boy why. To escape from everyone who wants something from him, to just have a moment to _think_. He’s always been that way. As much as he loves parties and dinners and get-togethers with his friends, he used to love spending time on his own, too. Just a couple of hours to recharge and be able to pull that smile off without looking like he is faking it.

It’s surprisingly easy to talk to Daryl. He listens, sharp eyes trained on him even though he doesn’t quite meet his eye. There’s shyness in the way his gaze flickers over his face before landing on his shoulder.

‘Why’d you do it then?’ he asks when Paul tells him that he was never really into all the social obligations.

‘Peer pressure,’ the scout shrugs. ‘Believe it or not; I’m actually very easy to like.’ He flashes the teenager a grin.

‘When you’re not stealing someone’s stuff.’

The spark of humor and teasing surprises Paul. He huffs out a breath of laughter as he watches how Daryl ducks his head shyly again. There’s a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. They talk about Paul’s fear of ending up alone but longing to be out there, without all these people wanting something from him. About the freedom that can’t be had inside walls like these.

‘I get it,’ Daryl says and Paul doesn’t doubt him.

A quiet ‘yeah?’ gets him talking, too. About a place they used to have, different from Alexandria and with lots of people. He’s vague about something he’d done to give him the reputation of being _wild_. Paul wonders whether it was really something Daryl had done. The boy practically oozes the wild, from his clothes to his body language, to the ease with which he moves. He’s graceful, light on his feet but strong. Paul frowns when Daryl mentions that people had known his dad, that that hadn’t helped his reputation. But the reputation hadn’t caused people to leave him alone. They had still wanted to talk to him, to get him to teach them things. Paul smiles when Daryl says that he used to explode into fits of anger every five seconds.

‘Shane let me hunt on my own. That helped,’ the teenager says softly before he gnaws on the back of his pencil just to have something to do. ‘Taught me how to politely tell them to fuck off, too, so…’ he trails off.

Paul laughs. ‘That helped, too?’ he guesses and gently knocks their shoulders together to show that he’s just teasing. Then he twists around to check on the gates before turning back to the boy. ‘Who is Shane?’ He hopes it’s the brother because there’s fondness in the way Daryl says his name.

‘Was,’ Daryl corrects and Paul closes his eyes briefly, cursing himself. ‘He was my friend, took care of me. He was Rick’s partner on the force, before.’

‘I’m sorry you lost him,’ Paul says. ‘I didn’t mean to…. I’m just trying to figure your group out.’

There’s not much to figure out, Daryl tells him and for a moment Paul thinks that he’s crossed the line. That he really is sticking his nose in this time, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind right now. He was twelve when it all started. Paul feels a little sick. He knows some kids survived of course but he can’t imagine having to grow up in this world, with a childhood marred by the world ending. He eyes Daryl. It’s made for some tough kids, that’s for sure. Shane took him in, looked after him, and then they found Rick, Maggie, Michonne, all the others.

‘Now I’m just… everybody’s,’ Daryl says with a small shrug. ‘Nobody’s.’

Paul gives him a hesitant smile. ‘What about Glenn? You seem pretty close.’

The teenager snorts. ‘Was the first person of that group I met. My dad, ya know, didn’t like him much.’ He looks away, almost as if he’s ashamed of it. ‘Glenn bein’ a chink and all.’

Paul keep his expression neutral despite the slur. ‘But you liked him?’

‘He gave me an oreo.’

The answer is so unexpected and childish that it makes Paul laugh. The shy grin Daryl shoots him causes fondness to swell in his chest. The blush is back too, and Paul realizes that the teenager feels a sense of pride at being able to make him laugh. It makes him want to reach out and ruffle the dark hair despite the cap being in the way but he knows he’s still too much of a stranger to do it, regardless of the heart-to-heart they’re having. ‘So that’s the way to your heart, huh? Chocolate.’

‘Yeah,’ the teenager smirks. ‘I were in the middle of eatin’ some when you went stomping around on the roof of that truck. It went down with it. ‘s why I hate you.’

‘You don’t hate me,’ Paul grins as he knocks their shoulders together again.

‘Nah,’ Daryl admits. ‘You’re all right.’

‘High praise indeed,’ he teases before leaning closer and reaching out to push one of Daryl’s hands off the sketchbook in his lap so he can look at the drawing. The page is covered with flowers. Black and white and gray but so vivid that they might as well have been in color. There are vines snaking up and down, curling around pedals and pushing leaves aside. Thorns shine dangerously in the patches of light. ‘Talking about high praise,’ Paul says with a smile, ‘this is really good. Beautiful. I should get you some colored pencils as well.’

Daryl hums and shrugs.

Paul thinks about where he might find them. Someone must have a set here, stuffed into a drawer, dusty from disuse. It doesn’t surprise him that the teenager doesn’t ask for them, or urge him to find some for him. A child of the apocalypse; grateful for just food and water and with no real need for nice things that don’t help with their survival. He’ll find some for him, Paul decides as he looks at the page. He can’t wait to see what he can do with them.

‘Shame about this,’ he runs his finger over the jagged line in the middle, one he’d drawn out of frustration and anger earlier.

Daryl says he can cover it up but then dismisses the whole thing as being something stupid, just something he likes to do. ‘I do other shit now,’ he says. ‘I hunt! Build traps, too. I used to drive a motorcycle.’

‘Really?’ Paul asks because he can’t quite picture it. The boy is small for his age, but he has already shown his strength and doesn’t seem to be a liar. There’s teenager eagerness in the way he talks now, so eager to prove that he’s older, strong and capable.

He built it in Aaron’s garage by himself but someone stole it from him.

‘Shame,’ Paul murmurs. He wonders whether it were the Saviors but doesn’t press. ‘Can I have it?’

Daryl frowns at him.

‘The sketch,’ Paul clarifies. ‘I’d like to have it.’

He can, but he should wait until Daryl has covered up the ugly mark. Paul agrees and watches how he blends the line, turning it into the stem of another flower, one without thorns but with strange leaves. He works quietly and not as quickly as before. In the end, he’s just fussing around with little details until the blush deepens again and he says ‘okay,’ before ripping the page out. ‘Here.’

Paul takes it. ‘Thank you, Daryl,’ the full name sounds almost too formal and Paul gets why everyone calls him Dare. It’s a nickname he hasn’t shared with him yet, though and Paul wonders whether it’s just a family thing. ‘It really is beautiful.’

‘They’re poisonous.’

Paul lifts an eyebrow, ‘they’re real flowers?’

‘Hmm-hmm,’ Daryl swings his legs nervously. ‘They used to grow in the forest behind our trail- home. Our home,’ he says.

Paul notices the quick cover up. Trailer. He used to live in a trailer park. Puzzle pieces start to fall together. None of that matters anymore. ‘So it’s a self-portrait in a way, then. An origin story,’ Paul smiles as he smooths the paper out once more before leaning forward on his knees, eyes on the stars again. ‘Thank you,’ he adds but he’s not just talking about the sketch.

‘You’re welcome,’ Daryl nods as he swings his legs again.

Paul thinks about all the boy has said. About his dad who had had a bad reputation, how he hadn’t liked Glenn for being a chink. But still, the boy had liked the man because he’d shared a cookie with him. How he’d casually mentioned that he’d worked in Aaron’s garage. Maybe they’re friends too, Paul muses. He knows that Rick’s group was together before they got to Alexandria, that they had survived together all this time. Ties of family forged among death and desperation.

Suddenly Daryl leans closer.

Paul has barely time to react before he feels dry lips on his cheek. A quick kiss and-

More puzzle pieces sliding together.

‘Ah,’ he says softly because he now understands that it hadn’t exactly been pride at being able to make him laugh that had made the teenager blush. He slowly turns his head so he can see the boy’s face. He looks horrified at what he’s done. Eyes wide and scared.

‘I’m sorry,’ Daryl says immediately. ‘I didn’t –‘

‘Don’t run,’ Paul answers softly. He wants to reach out and grab the boy’s wrist but knows that would have the opposite effect. ‘Please don’t run. Why did you do that?’ The teenager doesn’t move but doesn’t answer either. ‘I think I have the right to an answer, Daryl.’

He doesn’t know. He just wanted to.

Paul can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen the boy break another man’s arm without a second thought but knows there’s no cruelty in him. He’s strangely soft in this harsh world. His eyes go a little wild when Paul tells him that not everyone’s intentions are so pure. There’s hopefulness in his eyes when Daryl clumsily asks whether he is gay.

‘I am,’ Paul nods, but he has to put a stop to this as quickly and painlessly as he can, 'and you’re going to hate me forever for saying this but; I’m very flattered and think you’re great, but… I’m,’ he laughs, ‘I’m _old_ , Daryl. I’m almost twice your age. And while it’s not really _I could have been your dad_ territory, it’s close enough that I fear for my balls when Maggie finds out.’

The teenager groans and drops his head to his shoulder. He’s not seeking any affection, Paul realizes when Daryl screws his eyes shut. He’s just trying to hide at this point. The defiant _ain’t_ when Paul says that he’s a kid just serves to prove his point. Before, he’d agreed with him. He’s not a child when he fights, walking tall next to his family members and running to their aid, delivering it swiftly, with a fierceness that speaks of love and loyalty. But this is a whole other level. This is different.

‘Someone is going to be very lucky to have you at their side, one day,’ he tells the teenager. He doesn’t shake him off, doesn’t force him to sit on his own, can’t make himself move away either. He remembers the first time someone had shot him down and wishes someone had been gentler with him, then. So he lets Daryl recover for a couple of minutes before he realizes something. ‘First kiss?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ Daryl murmurs into his shoulder.

Paul laughs.

‘ _Stop_.’

He does. Instead he tells Daryl the story of his own first kiss to brighten the mood and feels very pleased with himself when the young hunter actually laughs. Rejection can be painful, Paul knows that all too well, and he doesn’t want Daryl to never try again with someone else. Doesn’t want him to think back about this and wince. So he’s glad that the boy talks to him still. He sits up and the fierce blush he’s sporting slowly ebbs away.

‘Can we stop talkin’ about it?’ Daryl asks, when Paul tries to pry some more. He hides his face in his hands. ‘You don’t like me. Fine. I get it. I won’t do it again.’

Paul wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that he actually likes him a lot. Just not like that. ‘Sure. Okay,’ he says instead to not give him the wrong idea. ‘How are you feeling right now?’

‘ _Mortified_.’

Paul laughs again.

They talk some more. About the fact that Daryl is bisexual but that it doesn’t have to define him, or change him. That it’s just who he is. The fact that Daryl is scared of telling his brother, afraid that he’ll try to hurt him, causes Paul’s heart to clench painfully. Only the fact that Maggie, Glenn and Rick will be right there with him when he goes back eases his mind a little.

They’re good people.

And Daryl won’t run anymore.

Paul takes his hand, kisses it, and then walks away.

 

 

He walks down the stairs, lost in thought and with the sketch of poisonous flowers in his hands. He stops on the bottom step, surprised to find Michonne standing there. She’s leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of her chest and with a pensive look on her face.

‘He wasn’t in the room,’ she says by way of explanation.

‘He was drawing,’ Paul answers and wonders how long she has been standing there.

Her gaze flickers to the sketch in his hands. ‘Right.’

Paul nods. ‘He’s a good kid.’

‘Yes, he is. How is he?’

The scout smiles at her, ‘do you remember the first time someone turned you down? I think he mentioned being mortified but he was smiling again when I left, so I guess he’ll get over it.’

After a second, the woman smiles back at him. ‘Good,’ she nods before walking away.

Paul watches how the katana blinks dangerously on her back and thinks about how he might never understand all the ties that hold that family together.

 

 


	4. Gentleman

 

* * *

 

 

**Thebluebicyle; Dare + kissing Taiwo for the first time**

 

i hope you like it!

 

* * *

 

 

‘So,’ Daryl wrings his hands nervously before pushing the door to the classroom open, ‘this is mine.’

Taiwo follows him inside.

Sunlight is streaming in through recently cleaned windows, making the room pleasantly warm even though winter is setting in. There are even curtains that can be drawn in front of the windows at night. It used to be an art room. A couple of work benches have been shoved together in a corner by the window and a matrass has been placed on top of it. The nest of pillows and blankets makes the man from Washington smile.

‘Yeah,’ Daryl says with a wave at the spot, ‘I like the sunshine in the morning, so… I dunno. ‘s just my bed.’

‘Right,’ Taiwo nods as he slowly weaves through the maze of tables and tools. One of the tables near the bed seems to be in use. There’s paper taped to the table to keep it in place, cups of water littering the surrounding area, tubes of paint in a neat row on the right, brushes drying in a cup beside them. ‘And it doubles as your workspace, I see.’

‘Hmm,’ the youngest Dixon shrugs. ‘Never used to have paint, so I like to practice with it when I have a second. ‘s a good space for it. Bright, ya know? Natural light.’

‘Sure,’ Taiwo answers as he walks over. ‘What are you working on right now?’

‘No, that’s not-‘

They’re sketches of a woman. Grey hair and piercing eyes, dressed in armor made in the Kingdom. A knife in her left hand, a gun in the right, held up as if she’s ready for what is coming towards her. Another has her dressed in a cardigan, sitting on a staircase of a house. _We ain’t ashes_ , is written in bold letters beneath it. Another where she has her arm around another woman who looks pregnant, radiant smiles on both their faces.

‘That’s mine,’ Daryl snarls as he yanks the paper off the table. ‘It’s – ‘ he takes a calming breath when he notices Taiwo’s surprised expression. ‘Sorry, it’s… I’m working on a piece for Ezekiel, these are just some sketches as preparation… it’s nothing. I can show you some other stuff.’

‘Okay. Yeah, sorry. I just – I didn’t know.’

‘No, it’s fine, here,’ Daryl grabs a large sketchbook off the bed and opens it, flipping through it. ‘That’s Carl, of course… Paul,’ he smiles when he pauses for a second at a portrait of the scout, black and white. ‘Messed up his eyes a little, but it’s a’right, I guess,’ he shrugs before flipping through the rest. Some names are familiar, people Taiwo just met.

Their convoy had arrived late last night at the kingdom, the first time they’ve left Washington to visit another group. In the dark, it hadn’t seemed like such an impressive place but this morning he’d woken up in a small city. People everywhere, children running around, groups of soldiers marching past on their way to relieve the night shift from their duties.

Taiwo thinks it might have been Paul Rovia’s idea that they’d arrived so late, only to be so impressed in the morning. The scout is cunning. People have given him the nickname Jesus, both because of his looks and his attitude. The man is friendly, nice even, Taiwo has to admit it, even though he had been wary at first. Daryl never uses the nickname, and he’d thought it was because of distrust in the beginning. By now he knows he was wrong about that.

‘Whoa,’ Taiwo says suddenly, hand shooting out to stop Daryl from flipping the next page.

‘Shiva,’ the Dixon nods. ‘She used to be Ezekiel’s, but she died in the final battle. Saved my life once,’ he mutters before closing the sketchbook again. They’re standing so close together that their arms touch, both bared despite the incoming cold.

‘Sounds like a good story.’

Daryl looks at him briefly before walking away. ‘’s an old one. Don’t matter no more.’

He doesn’t want to tell it.

Taiwo sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. ‘Okay. So…’ he looks around, determined not to let the conversation die. ‘You live at Hilltop Colony, which is different from The Kingdom, but you are from Alexandria and you’ve been to Oceanside.’

‘Yup,’ Daryl says as he jumps onto a cabinet and sits down with his back against the wall. The dark hair is kept out of his face by his trade-mark baseball cap, one he hates taking off but never wants to talk about.

‘But you have a room here. A _suite_ ,’ Taiwo laughs as he looks around, ‘it’s huge, man.’

Daryl grins back. ‘I have a room everywhere – well, people make a room for me when I visit Oceanside even though I always ask them not to. I usually sleep on Cyndie’s floor, but it’s a battle to let me do it every time. It’s a smaller community. The King gave me this space. He thought I’d like it.’

‘A wise king indeed.’

‘Yeah.’

The dark-skinned teenager slowly walks towards his friend. ‘You don’t have a room at Washington yet.’

Daryl curls his hands around the edge of the cabinet. His gaze flickers from his boots up to Taiwo’s eyes, ‘was, well, was kinda hopin’ I wouldn’t need one.’

‘Is that so?’

The youngest Dixon flushes bright red. The tips of his ears burn but he manages to hold the other man’s gaze. ‘Yeah.’

‘And why is that, huh? You think you can sleep in my room just because you’re my super hot boyfriend?’

‘ _Stop_ ,’ Daryl groans, shoving the guy’s shoulder a bit.

‘What? I’m supposed to welcome you in my bed when I haven’t even gotten so much as a kiss from you yet? It doesn’t work like that, Daryl Dixon,’ Taiwo teases. ‘You’re just trying to skip stages here and I’m not about it.’

Daryl snorts and reaches out to put a hand on the teenager’s waist, drawing him a little closer still. ‘Yeah, well… didn’t want it to be… I had to be sure. So, ready?’

Taiwo lifts an eyebrow.

‘A friend of mine once told me it’s important that the other person sees it coming.’

‘I saw you coming from miles away, Dixon.’

‘Liar,’ Daryl murmurs before he reaches out to trace Taiwo’s cheek, his ear, and then he lets his fingers glide into the dark afro hair. Blue eyes almost closed when he leans forward, pressing his lips against his boyfriend’s.

‘Hmm,’ Taiwo hums as he tilts his head the other way for a better angle, ‘what else did this _friend_ teach you?’

‘That my real first kiss should be with someone special.’

Taiwo nips at his bottom lip, ‘I’m your first real kiss?’ he asks before claiming a second one.

Daryl snorts and shoves his shoulder, breaking the kiss. ‘Don’t act like you can’t tell.’

‘I’m trying to be a gentleman,’ he says, one arm looping around his boyfriend’s waist. ‘no – kidding! I’m _kidding_ ,’ he laughs, ‘don’t break up with me, I’m special, remember?’

‘You’re a pain.’

‘Only sometimes,’ he promises with a wink before laughing again. ‘So,’ he leans back a little bit so he can look at Daryl, ‘what else did Jesus teach you, hmm?’

The blue eyes narrow dangerously. ‘How’d ya know it was Paul?’

‘You’re the only one who actually calls him by his given name. I’m not an idiot, Daryl.’

Daryl sighs and looks away for a second. ‘Yeah, was him. He’s… he’s special, too, but… in a different way, okay? Always gonna be, too, so if that bothers you then…’ he trails off, not really wanting to say it.

‘Are you in love with him?’

‘I was,’ the youngest Dixon murmurs. ‘At least, I think I was… pretty sure, though.’

‘But are you _now_?’

Daryl shakes his head. ‘No. He’s my friend. _Just_ my friend.’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ he echoes with a raised eyebrow.

‘He’s _Paul Jesus Rovia_ ,’ Taiwo says as he rolls his eyes. ‘How am I ever going to compete with him?’

Daryl laughs, ‘good thing you don’t have to, then,’ he says as he drags the other man in for another kiss. Their noses bump and he blushes when Taiwo gently pushes him back a little. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Taiwo grins, pecking the teenager on the lips. ‘Try again.’

He does. It’s easier that time.

And every time after that one.

 

 


	5. Hershel jr.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Anon: Dare + Maggie and naming the baby**.

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘What should we call him?’ Maggie murmurs as she cards her fingers through Daryl’s long hair. The teenager is on the bed beside her, blue eyes hazy with sleep, a soft smile on his face. His warm hand is on her belly, his head on her shoulder, one leg thrown over hers as he cuddles close.

‘Something cool,’ Daryl murmurs.

‘Cool?’ the woman lifts an amused eyebrow.

The teenager nods. ‘They’re gonna need a cool name. Something unique. Like, not…. Not anyone else’s, right, cause then he’ll just be ‘ _no –I mean the Rick from Hilltop not Alexandria’_ or ‘ _Paul with the short hair, not Paul-Jesus_. ‘s stupid.’

Maggie smile down at him. ‘Right. But he’s already going to be unique because he’s going to be the last Rhee.’

‘Nah – just the first of a new generation, not the last of anything,’ Daryl answers as he moves his hand gently over her belly, stroking her soft t-shirt. ‘And you’re a Rhee, so it don’t count.’

She kisses the top of his baseball cap. ‘So something unique, huh? I was thinking of naming him after someone.’

Daryl’s hand stills as he looks up. Eyes wider now.

‘You wouldn’t like that?’ Maggie asks because she can read the boy like a book.

The teenager shrugs and then sits up. He adjusts the cap and slides off the bed, heavy boots landing on the wooden floors. ‘Your call, right? Your kid.’

‘Your little brother.’

‘So? Merle didn’t name me or nothing,’ Daryl mutters as he picks a couple of items of clothing off the floor. He’d dumped them there earlier when he’s emptied his pack, having just come home from another trip to Ocean side. The last trip for a while because Harlan tells him that Maggie could go into labor any day now.

‘Dare…’

‘You wanna name him Glenn, you go right ahead, but… _everyone_ knew Glenn. _Weren’t he the guy that got his head smashed in by -_ …’ Daryl sighs and shakes his head. ‘ _We mean the goddamn baby_. It’s gonna be like that, all the time. He shouldn’t have to carry that.’

Maggie smiles at him. ‘I meant my daddy. I’m thinking about naming him Hershel. Glenn is a beautiful name, you’re right. That is still his. I don’t think daddy would mind sharing his name.’

‘Hershel’s a good name,’ Daryl nods slowly. He looks back at the woman. ‘Were a good man, too.’

‘Yes. He was.’

‘So,’ Daryl throws the clothes away and sits down on the bed again, ‘Hershel?’

Maggie nods. ‘I think so.’

‘That’d be cool.’ He pulls at his fingers nervously, ‘I didn’t mean, like… I really liked your dad, too.’

‘I know, sweetie,’ she reaches out to stroke his cheek before pulling him back down next to her. After two seconds, he crawls closer again, burying his face into her shoulder and breathing her in. She throws the cap aside to run her fingers through his soft hair again.

‘I miss Glenn so much,’ the boy says.

Maggie hugs him tightly. ‘Me too. He would have been a great dad.’

‘He was.’

Maggie nods and brushes his hair out of his face, dragging him close so she can kiss his forehead. ‘You’re right. He was.’

 

 


	6. Taiwo, from Washington

 

* * *

 

 

**Canoncannon; Jesus + Dare meeting Taiwo**

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘Are you sure you can –‘

‘Paul,’ Daryl sighs as he wipes his hair out of his face and puts the baseball cap back on. ‘I’m sure I can get out, okay? We’ve practiced it a million times.’

‘Maybe they won’t use rope, we should-‘

‘ _Paul_ ,’ the youngest Dixon gives him a half-hearted glare. ‘I know you love me loads, but-‘

Paul frowns, ‘this isn’t the time for jokes, Daryl. If they take you then there is no way we’ll be there in time to-‘

‘What? You don’t love me? I’m so hurt,’ the teenager smirks before walking away to rejoin the rest of the soldiers.

Paul watches with knitted brows while the other men clap the boy on the shoulder and back. They’re all dressed in their battle gear with their armor and spears. A couple are standing around Carl, who is distributing assault rifles. They’ve brought them back from Alexandria with Rick’s approval even though the man had been needed at Oceanside for another project.

His gaze follows Daryl as he makes his way to his brother. They talk quietly, heads bend close together, the brim of Carl’s hat almost touching the baseball cap.

‘Time robs us all of children.’

Paul glances to his right and nods at Ezekiel.

‘A dangerous endeavor,’ the King says gravely. ‘One would have thought these days were long gone. It pains me to send them out again. I wish I could be by his side once more.’

‘You’re needed here, your majesty,’ Paul answers. _In case something happens_.

Ezekiel seems to understand what he’s not saying anyway. He looks at the scout. ‘You have told me he is a great judge of character. And so are you, my dear friend. Faith,’ he puts his hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezes. ‘ _Faith_.’

 

 

He leaves Khamsin behind. That’s the only indication Paul has that Daryl isn’t overconfident or thinking too lightly about this mission. He watches how the young man leads the horse back into the stables after one of the guards had taken her out for him. The shoulders are curled inward as he closes the door behind her, but he looks calm and ready when he rejoins the group at the gate.

‘Did Carl give you a sniper rifle?’ he asks Paul, who is already on one of the horses provided by the King.

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ Daryl murmurs. He looks up, eyes hooded. ‘Can you do me a favor?’

‘What?’ Paul asks because he’s learned not to say yes too quickly to a Dixon thanks to Merle.

Daryl takes his bow in his hands. ‘Can you keep this with you? And if something happens, can you give it to Merle?’

Paul leans down to take the precious weapon from him. ‘Of course. I’ll give it back as soon as I jump the wall.’

‘Thanks,’ the youngest Dixon nods as he watches how Paul carefully puts the band over his head so the bow comes to rest on his back. ‘See you on the other side, then.’

‘I’ll be watching you the entire time,’ Paul promises and doesn’t realize his mistake until the younger man wiggles his eyebrows.

‘You always are,’ he teases before he walks over to Carl and lets his brother help him on the back of his horse. The two teenager melt together easily, with Daryl putting on hand on his shoulder, the other on his waist before giving the command to move out.

Paul shakes his head lightly and follows the troops.

 

 

As always, the waiting is the worst.

Carl is standing next to him as they look out over the road from one of the taller buildings in the area. They’ve blackened one of the windows and painted a D on it with white paint so their friend can easily spot it from down below. They hope it makes him feel a bit safer.

Carl doesn’t seem worried.

Paul pretends not to be.

‘There they are,’ the Grimes boy murmurs as he lifts his binoculars. ‘They have him. He looks okay.’

‘Did they-‘ he pauses when Carl passes him the binoculars so he can see for himself. There’s a small group of people, led by a young woman on a horse. Daryl’s hands have been bound in front of him, he’s dragged along by the young woman. She can’t be older than twenty, but she seems to be leading the group.

Everything is going according to plan.

Paul keeps watching the group, keeps watching Daryl. He seems to be moving a little clumsily, stumbling over his own feet when the woman yanks him forward. He never looks up at the sign they’ve made but Paul is sure he’s seen it. The man walking next to him helps him to keep upright, grabbing his shoulder when Daryl trips again.

Good people, Paul thinks. Just like the Dixon had said.

‘Let’s move out,’ Carl says as he grabs the sniper rifle off the standard, easily throwing it onto his back before running out of the room, heading to their next spot.

Paul keeps watching Daryl until he moves out of sight. Then he runs after the Grimes boy.

 

 

‘Hold your fire,’ Paul breathes as he moves past the troops. ‘ _Hold your fire_. Wait for the signal. Wait for it. Hold your fire. Be sure, before you pull the trigger. _Be sure_.’

Carl is lying on the platform, legs spread to give him more stability as he leans on one elbow, adjusting the scope with his free hand. ‘Let Paul and me take Daryl. You all cover the rest. Wide. Let everything go _wide_. One shot, if it comes to that.’

‘Where is he?’ Paul asks as he sinks down to one knee, loading his own rifle before taking aim, scanning the grounds of the new community.

‘They’re opening the gates.’

The rifle swivels to the left, where the gate is indeed being opened to let the group of soldiers back inside. Paul watches how the woman shouts some orders and people scurry out of her way. She drags Daryl over to the main square before she jumps off her horse, allowing others to take the animal away.

A crowd is gathering. Everyone seems to be curious about the man they’d seemingly found on the streets of Washington. People are watching him apprehensively. Their hands curl around the shoulders of children, keeping them hidden behind their legs and backs.

The woman is talking to Daryl.

Daryl nods and sinks to his knees.

A strange calmness washes over Paul. He moves his finger to the trigger and takes aim, lining up his shot with the woman’s chest, knowing that from this angle he will shatter her upper arm and hit her in the side. Through his scope, he watches how Daryl talks. His head tilted up, hair out of his face and shoulders curled in to appear smaller than he actually is. There’s a smile playing around his lips. He shakes his hands a little, still bound and the woman seems to laugh at his words.

‘Daryl Dixon,’ Paul says fondly because that boy keeps amazing him. At first, Paul hadn’t been too sure about him wanting to be a scout and messenger. It had made sense because he’s a good rider and knows every community they trade with, but Dixon’s are not known for their diplomatic nature. Daryl’s anger is still quick and all-consuming, his pride easily damaged and he can hold grudges like no other. It’s only because Maggie had insisted that it would be a _great_ idea, that Paul had agreed.

And it had been a brilliant idea.

Paul had gone with him on his first trip to Oceanside. And he’d just stood back and watched how the young man had arranged a trading deal that was fair to both parties. The women had known him from earlier trips, a little girl even dancing around him demanding horse riding lessons like he’d promised, and everyone seemed to really like him.

That’s half the battle when making any trade; make people want to help you out.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised, given the fact that he, too, can hardly say no to the youngest Dixon. He’s charming without himself even realizing it, disarming with his youthful curiosity and eagerness, though the way he carries himself warns everyone that he’s not to be messed with.

‘Heads up,’ Carl whispers.

The crowd parts and a man walks towards Daryl. He’s older, with gray hair, and obviously in charge. Two guards flank him.

The man stops in front of the kneeling teenager. He talks to the woman for a bit, gets handed a single knife.

Paul’s lip curls upwards. They hadn’t searched him thoroughly enough. There’s another knife hidden in Daryl’s boot. He could grab it, even with his hands still bound.

It makes him feel a little better about the situation.

Paul can see that Daryl is talking now. _My name is Daryl Dixon and I’m from a community much like this one_ –

The rest is a blur of moving lips and shrugging shoulders, the frown deepening on the leader’s face.

He almost turns away, leaving Daryl on the ground, but then the teenager suddenly stands up.

The rope falls onto the ground uselessly. He hasn’t grabbed his knife yet but he’s favoring the other foot, ready to pull his right up to grab the handle. His left hand shoots up.

‘ _Scopes_!’ Carl hisses as he reaches forward and flicks his on.

Red dots appear on the ground before the guards of Washington’s community. Paul’s and Carl’s form one bigger one in front of the leader’s feet. The man takes a hurried step back but then sneers something.

Daryl lowers his hand slowly, says something, shakes his head, takes a small step forward before rocking back on his feet. He’s pleading, Paul realizes. It doesn’t help. The youngest Dixon snaps his fingers.

Carl fires.

The bullet hits the ground between the messenger and the leader.

Ten minutes later, Paul and Carl climb down the wall.

 

 

The leader’s name is Mason and it takes him a long time to understand that Daryl didn’t come here to rob them. He’s never dealt with outsiders who wanted to _trade_ before. There’s suspicion and distrust coating every word exchanged.

‘We don’t trade guns or bullets,’ Daryl explains patiently for the third time. ‘Alexandria holds the majority. We’ll give you a couple to protect your walls after a month, but we trade food, clothes, armor, all types of other things. Whatever you need, someone out there has it.’

Mason looks skeptical. ‘We didn’t need you before. We don’t need you now.’

‘We’re building a new world out there,’ Daryl urges. ‘It’s going to need all of us. If we want to survive all of this, we _have_ to stick together.’

Paul watches the exchange. ‘What are you really scared of? This place is beautiful but your supplies are low. We can help with that. The Kingdom has fruit and vegetables, Hilltop is raising life-stock, Oceanside has salted fish for sale.’

‘And Alexandria just _takes_ , right?’ one of the guards says. He pushes himself away from the wall. ‘I’ve been out there, beyond our walls, beyond our borders even. In the wild. And I’ve met…’ he searches for the word, ‘people. _Ibidi_ people,’ he adds with an urgent whisper as he walks towards the inner circle where Paul, Carl, Daryl are sitting with Mason. The guard seems to be just as old as Mason. Dark eyes and darker skin, flashing white teeth when he speaks. ‘ _Crazy_ people. They bring stories about a place in the wild. They told us they used to live in a sanctuary until the monster came. There was a woman. She told us you burned people alive. That you kept tapes of it, kept playing it over and over on the speakers. Is that what happens when we say no? You’ll try to burn us like you did with them?’

Daryl closes his eyes for a moment. ‘That wasn’t us.’

‘No?’ the guard sneers.

‘No,’ Paul says as he shifts forward, wanting to spare Daryl from having to explain the war and relive it.

He tells them of Rick Grimes of Alexandria. Maggie Rhee of Hilltop Colony. King Ezekiel and his Shiva. Of Cyndie who is from Oceanside.

He tells them about Negan too. The monster in his Sanctuary.

Lucille.

‘Never again,’ Paul says to end the story. ‘That’s the promise we’ve made.’ He reaches behind them and puts a hand on the small of Daryl’s back, rubbing the promise into his skin with slow circles. ‘ _Never again_.’

 

 

Mason walks with Paul to the stables. ‘We have children of course,’ he says. ‘They must have been eleven when it all started. Some survived here, behind the walls. Others…. ‘ He shakes his head lightly, ‘they found us. Carl and Daryl Grimes, they found your community?’

‘Carl Grimes and Daryl Dixon,’ Paul corrects. ‘And no. I found them. They changed everything though.’

‘Their parents, are they…’

‘Carl lost his mother, but his father made it. Rick Grimes of Alexandria. Daryl, he.. he lost both of his parents. But he has an older brother at Hilltop. And Maggie Rhee, she…’ Paul searches for the right term. ‘He’s hers.’

Mason nods his understanding. ‘Amaka and her brother,’ he says, ‘the girl who captured Daryl with her guards, they’re like that. They found this place… almost too late. But they’re mine now. It’s amazing how resilient kids are. Though they’re not so much kids anymore. Eighteen,’ he says with a hint of pride.

‘Come on, Daryl!’ Amaka hoots as she runs past, dragging the Dixon boy along after her. ‘You _have_ to meet him! Taiwo! _Taiwo_!’

They almost collide with another teenager as he comes running out of the barn. Eyes wide and a hand curling around his dao. When he spots the girl, he relaxes fractionally. ‘Amaka, Christ,’ he breathes. 'I thought you were being murdered. What’s going on?’

‘Got someone I want you to meet,’ the girl grins as she wobbles on her feet and lets go of Daryl’s wrist. She looks at him pointedly.

‘Oh-‘ Daryl grins before looking at the boy. ‘oh. Eh. Yeah. I’m – I’m Daryl. Dare. Daryl Dixon from Alexandria. Hilltop, I mean.’

The boy glances at his sister before extending his hand. ‘Sorry, what? I’m Taiwo. From Washington, obviously.’

‘Daryl Dixon, from Alexandria,’ Daryl says, sounding more sure now as he shakes his hand. ‘I’m currently staying at Hilltop Colony though.’

‘I don’t know either of those places,’ Taiwo admits.

‘Maybe I can show you sometime.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘ _Definitely_ ,’ Amaka cuts in. ‘What?’ she asks when her brother glares at her.

Daryl wobbles on the balls of his feet. He glances at Taiwo. ‘Yeah. _Definitely_.’

 

 

 

_Four months later_

 

‘No,’ Daryl hisses at Carl. ‘ _You_ have to ask him, it’d be weird if I … Just ask him, please?’

‘Why would it be weird?’ Carl hisses back. ‘We met him on the same day, you guys talk all the time, why can’t you just-‘

‘ _Just ask him!’_

‘ _Fine_!’ Carl sighs heavily before taking a step back, away from his brother. He looks around. ‘Yo, Taiwo! Daryl wants to know if you want to ride to the Kingdom with us!’

Daryl’s eyes go wide and he punches Carl so hard on the shoulder that the other boy winces and ducks away. ‘You fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna kill ya! You son of a-‘

Paul can’t help but grin when the two brothers chase each other through the new community. The youngest Dixon obviously enraged while Carl just laughs and hoots, so used to fleeing from the anger but also not very concerned about getting caught in the end. They both know they’ll end up in a pile, trading light punches and jabs until they’re out of breath, splayed out like starfish on the dry earth.

‘Would that be okay, Jesus?’

Paul lifts his eyebrows and glances at Taiwo, the young guard, who is looking at him questioningly.

‘If I come and see the Kingdom?’

Paul smiles. ‘Yeah,’ out of the corner of his eye he sees Carl coming his way with Daryl in hot pursuit. He raises his voice. ‘Of course you can come and see the Kingdom. Seeing as you’re such good _friends_ , I think Daryl would like that very much.’

The youngest Dixon grinds to a halt, breathing heavily as he looks at Taiwo with wide eyes.

Taiwo folds his arms and cocks an eyebrow, ‘would he now?’

Daryl huffs out a breath of laughter. ‘Yeah. I would.’ Then he starts running again but Carl is long gone. He changes direction swiftly, ‘ _you dirty traitor, I’m gonna stomp your ass_! _You better not have been runnin’ your mouth to Maggie about us_!’

And this time it’s Paul who needs to run.

 

 


	7. Gonna get it

 

* * *

 

 

**Lateo; Mamma Bear Maggie**

 

* * *

 

 

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Maggie asks as she hands Daryl his pack. There are dark circles under his eyes and he’s wearing his cap the right way around for once. It makes it impossible for anyone to look him in the eye. He’s been wearing it like this more and more the last couple of weeks and Maggie _hates_ it.

‘I’m fine, thanks, I got it,’ he grabs the pack and hoists it onto his shoulders. His voice is flat. ‘I’m taking Khamsin, okay? I’ll be back soon.’

‘Yeah, okay. Be careful,’ she walks him to the door of their room. ‘Hey, if you want another job, we can arrange that. You can go hunting or help the blacksmith, or –‘

‘I like being a messenger.’

She reaches out to touch his shoulder and make him turn around. With a sigh, she plucks the cap off his dark hair to turn it around. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. The blue eyes are dull. ‘You don’t look like you like doing it.’

‘I’m just tired,’ he mutters. ‘With Hershey and everything…’

‘We can get you another room.’

‘I don’t want another room,’ Daryl bites out. It came out harsher than he intended because he adds as soft ‘sorry,’ immediately after. ‘I just – It’s fine. It’s nothing. I’ll see you when I get back.’ He hugs her briefly before walking away.

 

 

Dante comes by to collect the laundry a couple of hours later. It’s become a routine by now and Maggie likes his little visits. Now that she’s still so busy with Hershel, he keeps her up-to-date with all the intrigues of Hilltop Colony. She’d once called it their daily gossip session but Dante keeps insisting that he hates gossip even though he came running the moment he’d heard that someone had caught Felix making out with Geraldine in a watchtower.

It’s _news_ , he’d say. And Maggie lets him believe it.

‘So,’ Dante says as he grabs the dirty clothes out of the hamper, ‘I don’t know whether… look, it’s not really my place or anything, I know that, but… Have you talked to Daryl lately?’

‘This morning, why?’

‘Oh. And – ‘ he frowns, ‘you’re okay with all of this?’

Maggie shrugs, ‘he wants to be a messenger. He’s good at what he does.’

‘I know!’ Dante says quickly, ‘he’s really good, got us that deal with Oceanside, so… but - I just thought he wouldn’t… never mind.’

‘Finish your sentence. You thought he wouldn’t what?’

‘I just thought he wouldn’t have to go to the Sanctuary. That’s all.’ Dante fidgets a bit with the laundry in his hands, ‘but if you think it’s fine, then obviously it is, but…’

Maggie gapes at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I know he’s yours,’ Dante says, ‘but he just… he isn’t sleeping and they keep sending him to that place and it just… breaks my heart, seeing him like that.’

‘They’re sending him to the _Sanctuary_ for trade deals?’

‘I thought you knew,’ Dante says with a frown.

‘I didn’t.’ The words are clipped when she scoops Hershel out of his crib. ‘He told me he has been visiting the Kingdom.’

Dante looks a little guilty. ‘He hasn’t been there in months. I’m sorry, Maggie, I should have said something sooner –‘

‘No,’ she takes a deep breath and cradles her son close. ‘Thank you for telling me. I need to talk to Felix.’

 

 

Felix is two years younger than her and currently in charge of the trading missions since Paul accompanied Beth to The Kingdom. Her sister is training with one of the doctors there while Paul is helping Alexandria to set up a new trading system. It’s easier to travel to Washington from Ezekiel’s realm.

It’s no wonder that Daryl has managed to hide his destination for so long. Merle is at Alexandria too to help with the final stage of the rebuilding, and everyone must have assumed that the teenager either had permission or didn’t care that he had to go back to that evil place.

Dwight is slowly turning it around with Eugene’s help, but nobody from Alexandria accepts the changes or the group. They usually send outsiders, people who hadn’t known the men, haven’t been betrayed by them during the war. It makes it easier.

‘Maggie!’ Felix jumps up when he spots their leader entering the large room. He’d been slouching in the chair that’s usually hers, at the head of the table. Daryl has painted a map of the entire area on the wood so they can pin flags in it without ruining paper maps. Washington is still a vague gray area on the border, but he’s steadily filling it in with routes and access points provided by Taiwo’s community.

‘Felix, good morning,’ Maggie nods before she walks over to Berthie and hands Hershel to the woman. ‘Give me an update. When will Paul be back?’

‘We’re expecting him back in two weeks,’ Felix says immediately.

‘And Merle?’

‘Also two weeks, ma’am.’

She nods. ‘Is that why?’ she asks.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Is that why you thought you could send my son to the Sanctuary, because both Paul and Merle are away? Did you think I would never find out? Or are you so blind and stupid to think that I would not care?’

Everyone in the room shifts nervously in their seats.

Felix swallows with some difficulty. ‘He knows the community,’ he says. ‘It made sense to-‘

‘He knows the community because he was held captive and tortured there by the man who’d killed his friends and family. And you send him back there.’

‘He didn’t say he minded.’

‘ _He shouldn’t have to_!’ Maggie snaps. ‘He’s… I can’t believe you.’ She looks at the map. ‘Who is closest? Is anyone of us near the sanctuary?’

‘No.’

Maggie’s eyes flash as she holds out her hand for the long-range walkie-talkie. ‘Get me Alexandria. _Right now_.’

 

 

‘I’m really sorry,’ Frankie says as she chews on her nails. Her jeans are dirty from working in the factory all day. ‘We should move to another room, you don’t have to be here – we can go outside and wait for-‘

‘It’s fine,’ Daryl snaps.

He’s sitting in Negan’s old room and tries desperately to avoid looking at any of the familiar pieces of furniture. The bar he used to sit on, the couch where Negan would tackle him into when he was feeling playful enough, the long table at which they used to share their meals. Dwight is drafting up a new trading deal in the room that used to be Negan’s bedroom.

Daryl doesn’t understand how he can stand being in this place. He wants to throw up.

‘We can play cards?’ Frankie offers but chaos outside the room causes her to fall silent and then jump up. She grabs her knife and grabs at Daryl’s shoulder, pushing the teenager behind her.

The door slams open.

Merle waltzes in. He stops when he spots the woman shielding his baby brother. His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Now I don’t want you to take this personally, sweetheart,’ he says, ‘but I’m gonna need you to take a step back and take that hand off my brother. That’s better. Where the weasel? Yo,’ He stalks over to the other door and kicks it open. ‘New Dixon in town, asshole!’

‘What the hell?’ Dwight asks as he stands up.

‘You’re dealin’ with me now,’ Merle grins as he falls into a chair. ‘Maggie sends her regards.’

 

 

‘I’m just really sorry,’ Felix says.

Daryl frowns and slinks past him, ‘yeah, okay, whatever.’

‘Just – just tell Maggie I apologized, okay?’ Felix shouts after him, a little desperate.

 

 

‘What the hell did you do?’ Daryl asks Maggie as he leans against the doorframe.

‘Hello, Dare,’ Maggie hums while waving her son’s hand at him. Hershel whimpers. ‘Say hi to your brother first.’

Daryl sighs and drags himself into the room, holding out his hands for the little boy. ‘Hey, Hersey Kiss,’ he murmurs when Maggie transfers the boy to his embrace. ‘You been lookin’ after your momma for me?’

‘Is that what you think you’ve been doing, too? Looking after me?’

‘You sayin’ I haven’t been?’ Daryl scoffs as he sits on the bed, cradling his little brother. ‘You been runnin’ me ragged gettin’ ya shit.’

Maggie sits down next to him on the bed. ‘That’s not what I mean. You’ve been a great help with Hershel. I meant with the Sanctuary runs.’

Daryl shrugs. ‘Nah, just… ya know? You got a lot goin’ on, and.. weren’t nothing,’ he kisses Hershel’s chubby cheek, ‘huh, bud? Weren’t nothing but ghosts anyway. Thought it was a joke at first,’ he says as he looks at Maggie, ‘when Felix said I had to go, thought he were jokin’ but they were all talkin’ shit about how I already had a room there and stuff.’

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’

The teenager shrugs again. ‘Merle weren’t here. Beth and Paul were gone. Promised Glenn I’d look after you, help you out, not dump my own shit on top of yours.’ He strokes Hershel’s hair, ‘don’t matter anyway. Got the job done, right? ‘s all that matters.’

‘That’s not all that matters,’ Maggie corrects him. ‘ _You_ matter, always. No matter what is going on, no matter how busy I am. You matter to me. And I can help.’

Daryl scoffs. ‘So, what? Dudes are being mean to me so I should go run and cry to my mom about it, yeah that –‘ he stares at Hershel for a second. ‘I mean – I didn’t, I-‘

‘That’s exactly what you should do,’ Maggie cuts in. She gets up. ‘He waited until Merle and Paul were gone, thinking he could get away with it.’

Daryl gives her a small smile. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry when Merle gets back. He was real angry.’

She gives him a look. ‘He’s gonna be real sorry right now. First priority was getting you back here. Now I’ll go deal with the real problem. Watch Hershel for me?’

‘Yeah.’

The door closes and Maggie’s footsteps fade down the hall.

Daryl looks at Hershel. ‘Uh-oh,’ he whispers. ‘Asshole’s gonna get it good.’

 

 


	8. Good stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning; homophobia, slurs, mentions of child abuse, neglect.

 

* * *

 

 

Anon: relationship between Jesus and Merle developing over time

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘What happened?’ Paul asks as he rushes forward to get to Merle Dixon. The man is walking through the gates of Hilltop Colony while carrying Maggie Greene in his arms. The woman isn’t conscious and deathly pale. Her hair is shorter than last time they’d seen each other and it sticks to her forehead, wet with sweat.

‘Get the fuck out of my way,’ Merle growls. He pushes past the scout. ‘Where’s your doctor?’

‘That trailer, over there,’ Paul gestures and falls into step beside the man. ‘What happened? Was she bit?’

‘Do you think I’d be carrying a bitten fuckin’ corpse, you fuckin’ fagg-‘

‘Jesus!’ Sasha cuts in, shoving his shoulder to get him to move faster. ‘Where’s your doctor? She needs a doctor, _please_!’

Paul glances at Maggie once more before taking off running towards the medical trailer, Sasha hot on his heels.

 

 

‘You can’t,’ Sasha says as she follows Merle out of the trailer. ‘Merle, we need to stay here, there’s nothing-‘

‘He’s my _brother_ , you dumb bitch,’ Merle snarls back, pushing past her. ‘I’m gonna go get him.’

‘Merle,’ Paul steps forward to block his way. ‘They need you here. If Negan took Daryl, then there’s no way you can get him on your own. He’s probably at the Sanctuary, Negan’s stronghold. You can’t bust that door down and just _take_ Daryl. We need a plan. We need more information!’

Merle growls and steps up to him, into his personal space and stares at the scout who refuses to back away. ‘I can’t I _can’t_? Fucking watch me.’

‘You’ll die,’ Paul says as he stares into the same blue eyes as Daryl. These are a shade colder, smaller due to anger, but undeniably Dixon blue. ‘It’s suicide.’

‘That’s my _brother_.’

‘And we will get him back,’ Paul says even though he has no idea how. What happened during the night is still mostly a mystery to him. All he knows is that Glenn and Abraham are dead and that Negan took Daryl. ‘I promise.’

Merle gathers saliva on his tongue and spits in Paul’s face. ‘Don’t need you to promise me shit.’

 

 

Paul sits on the chair in the corner while Sasha leans against the wall next to him. They watch how Merle sits beside Maggie’s bedside. Boots on the bed even though Carson told him to put them down five minutes ago. He’s fidgeting with his army dog-tags while he waits for the woman to wake up.

When she does, her eyes crack open. She tries to speak but no words come out.

‘Here,’ Merle grabs a glass from a table and holds the straw to her lips. ‘Small sips. We’re at Hilltop.’

A hand goes to her belly.

‘You’re okay,’ Merle murmurs, ‘the baby is okay.’

The trembling hand reaches out to him.

‘Here, just take a sip and sleep,’ the man urges.

The hand grabs hold of his wrist, nails digging weakly into his skin.

‘I don’t know,’ Merle says softly. ‘I don’t know. We’ll get him back.’

Maggie croaks something before her eyes fall shut again, exhaustion robbing her of consciousness.

Merle puts the glass away again and reaches out to brush the hair out of her face. ‘Promise,’ he whispers.

And Paul thinks he can see traces of Daryl in how gentle the touch is.

 

 

‘I’m… I’m sorry – ya know? About before.’

Paul looks up from his notebook to see Merle Dixon standing next to him. He closes the book and puts it down beside him on the picnic table. ‘Okay.’ He looks past the oldest Dixon at his trailer. The light is still on inside. ‘How is she?’

‘Pullin’ through,’ Merle nods. ‘Restin’. Sasha is keepin’ an eye on her. Tough as nails though, that one. She’ll be okay.’

‘Eventually,’ Paul nods. He looks at the table, ‘you can sit if you want.’

Merle looks a bit uncomfortable but still sits down. He rubs at the back of his neck and looks around warily. ‘So, Hilltop, huh? Monster told me about this place. Liked it.’

‘We have a cow.’

Merle snorts and shakes his head. ‘Don’t think he liked it because of the damn cow, man.’

Paul smirks and pulls at his own fingers, ‘no, I suppose not.’ He hates the fact that he feels nervous to be sitting next to the older Dixon. It’s not that he’s afraid because he knows how to take care of himself. He just hates confrontations.

Especially ones with racist, homophobic assholes.

No matter how often he tells himself, or anyone tells him, that they’re just assholes, he can’t help but cringe at the words they spit out. They still hurt, somewhere, somehow.

‘We, - err, we talked it out, ya know?’ Merle says as he scratches at his cheek, practically radiating how uncomfortable he is. ‘Know it looked bad at Alexandria, but we talked and… it’s cool, I guess. I mean…  Ain’t what I wanted for him, but he seemed pretty dang sure, so… whatever. Don’t have to give a shit about who he wants to…’ Merle nods and looks away. ‘Ain’t nothing to me.’

Paul turns his head to look at the oldest Dixon. No matter how much he hates confrontation, he can’t let this slide. Not after he’s seen Daryl come running around that corner, eyes wide with fear and hiding behind him to get away from his own blood. Not after that night up in the tower of Barrington House. ‘I talked with him the night they stayed here,’ he says. ‘He was sitting up in the guard tower, drawing these wild flowers that reminded him of Georgia.’

Merle smiles. ‘He’s good, right?’

There’s pride there, Paul notices with a hint of surprise. He nods. ‘yeah. He is.’ He scratches at his knee before meeting Merle’s eye again. ‘He was scared.’

Merle frowns. ‘Scared?’

‘Of your reaction. He said he wouldn’t be anyone’s anymore if you found out. I didn’t understand at the time but I do now. He was scared, Merle. He survived the apocalypse, ran into a walker-infested building without blinking and he was _scared_ that you would find out. He knew you would. Can’t hide that forever,’ Paul murmurs as he looks away again. ‘Shouldn’t have to.’

The oldest Dixon tilts his chin up, almost haughtily if it wasn’t for the insecurity lingering in the blue eyes. ‘Yeah? Well, don’t fucking matter no more. We talked. We’re good.’

‘Are you?’

‘Done told ya; I don’t give a shit that he’s…. like that.’

Paul scoffs and shakes his head while glancing at the trailer again. ‘You can’t even say it.’

Merle pulls a face. ‘Daryl wants to suck your dick. There. I said it.’

‘How about; my little brother is bisexual and I love him, _unconditionally_ ,’ Paul snaps.

‘Words,’ Merle growls. ‘’s all bullshit. He knows that I love him.’

The scout drags his hands over his face, rubbing at his closed eyes for a second before getting up. ‘He thought you were going to kill him, Merle. He jumped the wall and rather talked to a memory of a guy than face you. Trust me. _He doesn’t know_.’

 

 

Maggie looks surprised to see him but Merle just glances up from his chore for a second before disregarding him. The woman gives him a fragile smile when she rises cautiously, ‘Jesus,’ she says, ‘where have you been? We were getting worried.’

Merle snorts to show that the _we_ doesn’t include him.

Maggie glares at him.

‘What?’ the oldest Dixon asks. ‘Worry about the ones who can’t save their own asses, woman.’

‘He’s here,’ Paul says as he closes the door to the trailer.

Both Alexandrians look up sharply. Merle’s hand goes to his gun immediately while Maggie pales.

‘ _Daryl_ ,’ the scout hastily adds. ‘Not Ne- I – I found him. At the Sanctuary. I got him out. He’s here but-‘

The chair clatters to the floor as Merle jumps to his feet and vaults the table, running towards the door. Maggie staggers, grabs hold of the cabinet near the bed to stay upright.

‘ _Move_ ,’ Merle barks.

‘No,’ Paul puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him at a distance before looking at Maggie. ‘He’s not – he’s okay, I mean  he looks to be okay but… he doesn’t want to see Maggie yet. He asked me to keep you away for a little while. I think he’s… I think he’s scared.’

Merle shoves him aside. ‘Of course he’s goddamn scared,’ he snarls as he yanks the door open and heads out towards the gate, looking around for his little brother.

Maggie sits down on the bed, arms wrapped around her middle as she tries to comfort herself. She nods at Paul. ‘Take him to Barrington House. Merle will, he’ll look after him for tonight, just… make sure he’s okay. Please.’

 

 

Paul watches how Merle hugs his little brother and cries with relief. The two Dixon brothers, clinging to each other, nails digging into shoulders and backs, almost hard enough to draw blood.

 

 

There’s a book on the table.

Merle is staring at it.

 _Treating survivors of childhood abuse_.

Carson thought that it would help Merle understand Daryl better.

Paul has the sinking feeling that Merle understands him perfectly. The scout sits down across from the Dixon. He watches how the hands shake, how Merle can’t meet his eye.

‘There – there were a guy,’ Merle says suddenly. His voice is rough and hoarse. ‘Back when he were little. We used to live in a trailer park, with our dad. Old man had these parties with his dumb-ass friends. Drinkin’ moonshine he’d cook up. Was stupid.’

Paul nods to show that he’s listening.

‘There was this guy, friend of my dad’s. Jerry. One night, I dunno.. didn’t feel right. I knew monster were home, knew he’d gone to bed hours ago, but… something were naggin’ me, like…’ he shrugs. ‘ain’t gonna pretend like I’m some stellar big brother. Weren’t. Ain’t, ya know, but… I went to check on him. Door to our bedroom was open. Jerry was in there, just..’ he makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. ‘Lookin’ at him, like… He was a fucking _kid_.’

Paul closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

‘Nothing happened, made damn sure before I beat that guy into the hospital. Only reason why I left him alive at all.’ Merle wrings his hands. ‘Always told myself; you might be a fucking asshole, but at least you did that right. That’s what big brothers do. Protect you. Look after you.’

‘You did.’

‘When it fucking suited me.’

Paul frowns.

Merle bites on his lips. ‘Made me look real tough; Merle Dixon almost killed a man for his baby brother. Spooked people. I suppose that helped him some but…. Didn’t do jack about the real problem.’ He laughs humorlessly. ‘He says it started after I left. Didn’t. Happened all the time, just in different ways. Callin’ him Darlina all the time, tellin’ him he’s fuckin’ dumb. Old man were always ridin’ his ass about that. He ain’t booksmart, ya know? Can’t read for shit but he ain’t stupid. He’s got a good head on those shoulders. Nobody ever told him.’

Paul hums softly while he plucks at his fingernails.

‘The old man… One night…’ Merle shakes his head. ‘Beat the living shit out of me and I just remember thinking… He used this switch on me, right? And when he were done, he was just huffin’ and puffin’, sweatin’ like a pig and I just remember thinking; _next time, I’m taking you on ‘cause you ain’t shit no more. Gettin’ old, man_. Knew I could take him.’ He digs around in his pockets and light a cigarette with shaking hands.

‘Did you?’ Paul asks softly.

‘No.’ Smoke rolls over pale lips. ‘I would have killed him and then what? Go to jail, leave monster all by his lonesome? Have him go into the damn system? Told myself it were me. That it was something I did, so… Convinced myself he wouldn’t touch Dare. I thought that…’ He takes another drag and shakes his head again. ‘Was stupid, I know. In the end, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.’

‘Did you?’ Paul asks again.

‘Enlisted and then got my ass send to jail over something stupid. Didn’t come out until the dead didn’t stay down. You were right, you know. I don’t think he knew, before.’ He gets up and takes the book flicking it open on the first page. ‘I’ll make sure he won’t ever forget from now on.’

A small smile tugs at the corner of Paul’s mouth. ‘Sounds like a good plan.’

Merle scoffs. ‘Yeah. Better late than never. Looked like a starved puppy when you told him you thought he were pretty special.’

Paul laughs. ‘Well, he is.’

‘I’ll break all your goddamn bones,’ the oldest Dixon warns. ‘You so much as _look_ at him that way, I’m gonna let you turn.’

Paul quirks an unimpressed eyebrow, ‘’cause that’d be too gay?’

Merle frowns as he scans the page. ‘Nah. ‘cause you’re fucking old,’ he murmurs as his finger traces the lines he reads. ‘He can do better.’

 

 

Merle folds his arms and scowls at the ground. ‘He won’t like that none.’

‘By the time he figures it out, it’ll be too late,’ Paul reasons.

‘Just gonna lock him up, leave him out in the yard like some damn dog now?’

Paul sighs and puts his hair up in a bun to keep it out of his face. ‘He’ll like The Kingdom. It’ll be good for him.’

Merle looks torn. He scuffs his boot on the dry earth. Then he glances up at the scout, a little warily. ‘They gonna keep him safe?’

‘Yes. Ezekiel is a good man. The Saviors have never been inside his borders. Their drop-off point is somewhere halfway between there and the Sanctuary. He will be safe there.’

‘That a goddamn promise?’

Paul suppresses a tiny smile. ‘I promise, Merle.’

The oldest Dixon rolls his shoulders back. He holds out his hand.

Paul shakes it.

 

 

**_Two years later_ **

‘This ain’t no time to be playin’ no goddamn games, Rovia,’ Merle snarls. ‘He is dating a guy. He is _dating_ some asshole up north!’

Paul puts his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair, ‘yeah. I know. Do you have any of the apple cider left?’

‘You and your fairy drinks,’ Merle snaps but he opens a cupboard and takes a jar out. ‘You want some crystal glass with that? Some straw so it don’t fuck up your lipstick?’

Paul smirks and holds out his hand. ‘You’re such an asshole. Three years and I still can’t believe you two are related.’

The jar switches hands.

‘Can we focus on the real problem here?’ the oldest Dixon asks.

‘And what _is_ the real problem here, Merle?’ Paul asks before taking a big swallow of the apple cider. ‘Do we need to have the whole _Gay Is Okay_ conversation again? Maybe I should write it down for you, maybe then you’ll remember. I can make it a picture book so you’ll actually understand!’

‘ _Ha ha_ ,’ Merle grouses as he sits down and puts his feet up as well. ‘I’m serious. What if he wants to move there?’

Paul frowns, ‘what?’

‘What if he wants to move to Washington, Rovia!’ Merle barks. ‘People are shackin’ up all the damn time. That guy, what’s his name? – Jonas! Jonas moved to Oceanside to be with this girl he met. _What if he wants to move_?’

‘Merle, they started dating four months ago. Dare isn’t even sleeping in Taiwo’s room when we’re there, they’re not moving in together any time so--’

‘ _Four months ago_?’

Paul narrows his eyes, ‘when did he tell you?’

‘ _Yesterday_!’ Merle sits up again, boots thudding on the wood. ‘When did he tell you?’

Paul raises his eyebrows and pretends to study his apple cider. ‘Err – you know – not yesterday.’

‘You son of a bitch,’ the oldest Dixon breathes. ‘You knew from day one.’

‘Well, not exactly day _one_ , but… pretty much, yeah,’ the scout grins.

Merle scowls at him. ‘You see? This is why we’re not getting’ along, right here.’

‘And here I was, thinking those gorgeous blue eyes were the only thing you two have in common,’ Paul murmurs before taking a sip and holding the jar out to the other man. ‘You’re both terrible liars, too.’

‘Go fuck yourself, Rovia,’ Merle growls as he takes the jar. ‘And bring back another jar of this on your next run. Good stuff.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be taking any new prompts for the time being.  
> Thank you so much for the inspiration. The ones that are still in my inbox will hopefully all be completed soon.


	9. Lies and raccoons

 

* * *

 

 

**Lateo:** **Daryl gets punished for something he did not do.**

 

* * *

 

 

Raised voices echo down the corridor. It takes Shane a couple of seconds to realize that they belong to Glenn and Daryl. His heart hammers in his throat until it registers that they aren’t calling for help or sounding the alarm. He gets up anyway because he’s never heard Glenn raise his voice in anger like this before.

‘Get inside, _now_.’

‘Man, I told you; it wasn’t me! I didn’t even do anything!’

‘Get inside and go to your cell. Don’t bother coming out until you’re ready to apologize!’

‘ _Apologize_?’ Daryl stumbles through the doorway, clearly having been shoved inside. ‘Fuck you! I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t take Michonne’s stuff, okay? We always trade, why the hell would I steal from her?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’ Glenn closes the door behind them and glares at the teenager. ‘This is serious, Dare. Stealing anything is wrong, but _food_? That’s… That’s _so_ wrong. We’re all working hard to provide for everyone, and you just-‘

‘I just what?’ the teenager cuts in, ‘risk my life every other day going out there to hunt for y’all? So you all have some nice hot venison in your belly while I come home late and get scraps of my own damn game? Huh? Don’t act like I’m some dumb kid, I ain’t. I _earn_ my keep. Don’t need to steal nothing.’

Glenn narrows his eyes. ‘Is that why you did it? Because you were annoyed that we hadn’t saved you something the other day? I told you; it was a mistake. I thought Shane had grabbed some for you and he thought I had. It won’t happen again. We’re sorry, okay? Now if you just go to Michonne and tell her you’re sorry, then everything is forgiven and forg-‘

‘I ain’t tellin’ her shit because _I didn’t steal her food_!’ Daryl screams.

Shane sighs and walks over. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Michonne had packed food for her next run. It’s gone,’ Glenn says with his hands on his hips. He glares at the Dixon. ‘And Daryl was the only one still here.’

‘Because you all put me on house arrest after a long hunt!’ the teenager shouts. His eyes are narrowed in anger, hackles practically raised. ‘And I wasn’t even here! I was helpin’ Carl with his chores, I done told ya!’

‘You slept in and joined him later, you had plenty of time to-

‘Oh, now I’m lazy _and_ a thief? I got you a goddamn _buck_ the other day! Tracked it for miles and miles and-‘

‘This isn’t about that!’ Glenn shouts back, ‘we’re so grateful for your hunting, but we can’t let this slide just because you bring in food! It’s just a can now, next time it’ll be a knife or gun or-‘

‘ _I ain’t no thief_!’

‘Enough,’ Shane grabs Daryl’s arm and yanks him towards the staircase. ‘Go to your cell, right now. Think about what you did.’

Daryl stares at the former cop in shock. He’s practically reeling on his feet, swaying a little on the spot. ‘What, _Shane_ , I didn’t-‘

‘Go to your cell, Glenn told you twice already, don’t make me _put_ you there!’

‘I swear I didn’t-‘

Shane grabs hold of his arm again and drags him up the staircase, over the landing before shoving him into his cell. The boy stumbles along before falling into the small room. He has to catch himself on the bed to stay upright. With wide eyes he watches how the door closes, bars separating them now.

Shane doesn’t lock it. He leans against the bars and looks at the boy. ‘Stay here. Carl is sleeping with Rick tonight. _Think about what you’ve done_.’

 

 

Glenn doesn’t look angry anymore when Shane joins him seconds later. They head out to the other area, where they know the teenager can’t overhear their conversation.

‘I just don’t understand,’ the Korean mutters. ‘If he’s hungry, he can tell us. He can ask for more. He always does _this_.’

The angry act. Spitting and hissing like a cat when cornered while trying to hide whatever he’s done now. Shane knows he’s a good kid and means well most of the time, but there are always these little things. Coming back later than he should and then pretending to have been inside the gates for hours while Carol saw him come in late. Staying up with Carl and snapping the next day at everyone because he’s tired while claiming to go crazy from being cooped up inside. Not helping Maggie with laundry and running around with Patrick instead but still arguing that Hershel needed him for something, snarling when confronted about it.

‘He never stole something before though.’

Glenn shrugs, ‘first time for everything, it seems.’

Shane nods. ‘Yeah. He’ll come around. He always does.’

 

 

But that night, Daryl won’t even look at him.

‘You don’t have anything to say for yourself?’ Shane asks as he leans against the wall.

‘No. I didn’t do it. Y’all can go to hell.’

‘Daryl.’

‘What, gonna push me around some more? You ever touch me again, I’ll fuckin’ shank you.’

‘Dare…’

‘ _Go fuck yourself, ya pig_!’ Daryl shouts as he hurls a sketchpad at the former cop.

Shane grits his teeth and leaves.

 

 

There’s a girl standing near the doors. She’s holding on to her father’s legs, crying so loudly that everyone can barely understand what the man is saying.

The girl is very sorry for stealing Michonne’s food.

She’d been sneaking cans out of the pantry, trying to stock up just in case something happened, like they had done out on the road, before they had found the prison. She’d seen Michonne pack her bag. Had taken the food while Daryl had still been sleeping in his cell.

‘She is really sorry,’ the man says. ‘She won’t do it again. I’ll make sure of it.’

Rick shakes the man’s hand and tells the girl she’s very good for admitting it and apologizing.

Shane curses softly and rubs at the back of his neck while glancing at Glenn, who looks a little sick.

 

 

‘- you’re just going to have me running around in circles here? Waiting for the walkers to come get me? Daryl, I know you’re there, I know you can hear me. Come in, over.’

There’s nothing but static.

Shane sighs and wipes the sweat from his brow. The sun is filtering through the trees, almost dying over the horizon. He’s been out in the woods chasing Daryl’s shadow all day. The boy had been gone from his cell this morning, must have disappeared just after sunrise and before the girl had come forward about the theft. By the time Shane and Glenn had gone up to apologize, he’d disappeared.

One of the guys from Woodbury had admitted to letting him go out. He hadn’t known the boy had been under house arrest.

‘Come on, buddy,’ Shane says into his walkie-talkie. ‘We’re _sorry_. Over.’

Silence.

‘I’m heading back home,’ the cop says. ‘I hope to see you there. I hope you’re already there. Over.’

He heads back. Trudges through some bushes, makes his way over a fallen tree and then follows something that used to be a path.

The walkie-talkie flares to life after a couple of minutes.

‘You’re going the wrong way, asshole.’

Shane brings the device up so fast that he nearly knocks his own teeth out. He pushes the button down the transmit, ‘you’re supposed to say _over_ when you’re done, Dare. Over.’

‘You were supposed to go right, not left, if you wanna go home. Over.’

‘Thanks,’ Shane mutters as he changes directions. ‘This way? Over?’

‘Did you need a map to go to the fucking bathroom in your place before all this went down or something? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, man,’ Daryl’s voice suddenly rings out between the trees. ‘The _other_ right.’

‘Maybe you should just come out and show me the way then,’ Shane says loudly as he looks around.

‘I’m right here. Look up.’

The teenager is lounging on a low branch. One leg swings back and forth lazily. He seems to be cleaning his bolts with his rag. They click back into place one by one before he stands and throws his bow onto his back. He makes climbing down look easy.

‘How long have you been following me?’

Daryl shrugs as he lands on the ground. ‘A little while this morning, but I got bored of watchin’ you stumble around. Found you again an hour ago. Weren’t hard, you’re like an elephant out here, just blunderin’ through it all, leavin’ tracks everywhere. Erased some, by the way. It’s better if we find them first, right?’ He looks away, ‘whoever is still out here, anyway.’

‘Yeah. Thanks. Hey,’ Shane takes a step towards him and hates how the boy flinches. ‘We really are sorry. A girl came and owned up to-‘

‘Yeah, I heard it the first ten times,’ Daryl mutters. He pushes his hands into his pockets and starts to head back to the prison. ‘Told you I didn’t do it.’

‘It’s hard to tell when you are telling the truth sometimes.’

‘You callin’ me a liar?’

Shane shrugs, ‘you don’t always tell the truth. And when someone confronts you? You always blow up, even when you _did_ do the thing you’re accused of.’

‘So you’re just never gonna believe me, huh?’

‘No. We’re going to make a deal, right here, right now. From now on, I’m always going to believe you. And you are always going to tell the truth. If you stay up late with Carl reading your comics, you’re going to say that the next morning and we’ll get off your case about it. If you don’t do a chore we told you to do, you tell us why and we’ll figure it out from there. And if we ask you whether you did something and you say you didn’t? We’ll believe you.’

Daryl frowns and aims a kick at a flower. ‘Thought you already had my back. Thought we were stickin’ together.’

‘We are.’

‘Picked Glenn’s side over mine,’ the boy mutters moodily.

‘Yeah, if you’re being a little shit, I’ll send you to your room. That doesn’t mean I don’t have your back. It means I’m looking after you and trying to teach you something.’ He holds up his hand when the teenager opens his mouth. ‘I was wrong this time. So was Glenn, and we’re sorry. We should have listened to you. We apologize. And I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. I shouldn’t have done that.’

Daryl shrugs. ‘Used to it.’

The words cut Shane like a knife.

Daryl frowns at him, ‘why’re you looking like that? Good lord. I know you ain’t like that, okay? Weren’t even like that. Think I’ll break because you shove me around some?’

‘Think I don’t have the right to shove anyone around is more like it.’

Daryl laughs at that. ‘Whatever, man.’ He walks a couple of steps in silence. ‘Hey, you still feelin’ guilty?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You can make it up to me by giving me your eggs tomorrow morning.’

Shane eyes him warily.

Daryl tries to look innocent. ‘You did shove me pretty hard,’ he rubs at his shoulder, ‘I think there’s even a bruise, so..’

‘You’re lying again.’

‘I said I think. I _think_! Ain’t lyin’ if you say you _think!_ ’ He pulls his flannel shirt aside and glances at his shoulder. ‘Oh, no bruise. I was wrong. Honest mistake.’

‘You don’t have an honest bone in your whole body. That what started this in the first place.’

‘What started it is all y’all thinkin’ I’m some sort of thief. Might lie about sleepin’ in or stayin’ up late, but I ain’t not _thief_. Just, you know-‘ he shrugs and rubs at his nose. ‘Maggie said she lied to her dad all the damn time when she were my age. ‘s what teenagers do. They lie to their parents about dumb stuff.’

Shane smiles. ‘Yeah, I guess they do, huh?’

‘Yup,’ Daryl grabs a stick and pretends to swing it like Michonne would her katana. It thuds against the bark of a tree. He frowns and looks back at Shane. ‘Not about important stuff, okay? Won’t lie about that, so… so you gotta believe me next time, okay? That’s the deal right?’

‘That’s the deal,’ the former cop nods.

‘Fucking A,’ Daryl mumbles before he ducks under a low branch. ‘Prison’s over yonder. Let’s go.’

 

 

 

 

Rick narrows his eyes at Daryl. ‘So you’re honestly trying to tell me that Aaron saw a _raccoon_ on our rooftop last night? That he saw a raccoon climb down our drainpipe, cross the street to the house where Taiwo is staying at, climb up a drainpipe, knock on a window, wait patiently until it was opened and then climb inside?’

‘They’re real clever, Rick,’ Daryl nods around a mouthful of pomegranate seeds.

‘They’re a pest, is what they are,’ Merle says with a raised eyebrow. ‘Next time Aaron should just shoot it.’

His brother shoots him a half-hearted glare.

‘It might breed otherwise, ya know? Pro-create.’

Daryl kicks him under the tale.

‘Okay enough,’ Rick says with a shake of his head. ‘Just – stay inside if I tell you to, Dare. No sneaking out.’

‘Man, I just fuckin’ told you _I didn’t_!’

Merle reaches out to clip him over the back of his head. ‘Shut it, monster. You snuck out to bang your boyfriend. We all get it, no need to be such a pussy about it. Just don’t do it again. Listen to Rick, man.’

 _‘I didn’t sneak out_!’

‘ _Fine_ ,’ Merle snaps back, ‘but a raccoon is probably blowin’ your boyfriend, so you might wanna have a chat about that then!’

Daryl blushes and scowls as he flips his brother off and sulks.

Rick rolls his eyes and looks at the next point on the list. ‘Okay. Twelve silver pieces are missing from the register. Either someone has sticky fingers, or someone made a mistake. Daryl, you were at the casting site yesterday, did you take them?’

‘No, Rick.’

‘Okay,’ their leader nods. ‘We need to bring in the ones from the afternoon shift for questioning. Rosita, can you take care of it?’

The woman nods. ‘Leave it to me.’

Paul shifts in his seat. ‘Dare, maybe you – maybe you made a mistake, right? It’s okay if you-‘

‘ _Jesus_ ,’ Rick says, voice cracking like a whip. ‘He said he didn’t do it. He didn’t do it.’

‘Rick, come on, he just-‘

‘He doesn’t lie about things like that. _Important_ things,’ Rick says as he closes his notebook and stands up. He glances at Daryl. ‘Sneaking out is now an important thing, okay? It’s not about being in the house, it’s about me knowing where you are. It’s okay to visit Taiwo – just let me, Maggie or Merle know, okay? There’s something out there, Dare. Something beyond the walls.’

Daryl nods. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll let y’all know from now on.’

‘Thank you, Dare. Carl, ready for our patrol?’

Carl jumps up. He puts a hand on his revolver and tips the sheriff’s hat. ‘See if we can spot that raccoon somewhere.’

 

 


	10. Hot dates

 

* * *

 

 

**GabbyD: Team family playing matchmaker and failing.**

 

* * *

 

 

Daryl and Merle are sitting on the steps of Barrington House. The oldest Dixon is eating an apple while the youngest draws his horse from memory. There’s a sketchpad on his knees, colored pencils next to his heavy boots. The yellow one is stuck between his teeth while he creates shadows with a darker shade.

Hilltop Colony is settling down for the night. People are walking back to their trailers after dinner, some lingering at corners to finish conversations while others wave and duck inside for some peace and quiet. Daryl looks up briefly when a group of four men walk by.

Paul is laughing quietly at something Harlan said while Alex pushes Wes around.

Merle watches his little brother from the corner of his eye. ‘Still moonin’ over him? It’s been almost a year, baby bro. It’s gettin’ pathetic.’

Daryl shakes his head. ‘Nah.’

‘ _Nah_ ,’ Merle mocks. ‘Don’t let the drool ruin your damn drawing now.’

The teenager doesn’t answer. He just lets the yellow pencil roll out of his mouth and into his hand, twirling it around a bit before highlighting certain patches of Khamsin’s coat.

‘Plenty fish out in the sea,’ his brother says between bites of his apple. ‘Just gotta throw your rod out. Use some bait.’ He lifts an eyebrow and smirks as he looks at Daryl. ‘Or maybe your rod is your bait, huh?’

‘Stop bein’ gross.’

‘ _Gross_? You know what’s gross? Your dick withering away because it ain’t being used. Seen it happen, man.’

‘What, when you looked down? Or were you sneakin’ peeks?’

Merle narrows his eyes. ‘ _Heard_ it happen.’

‘Ain’t what you said,’ Daryl leers. ‘You said; _seen_ it happen.’

The oldest Dixon throws the remains of his apple into some bushes. ‘Think you got me there or something? Wipe that grin off your face. Ain’t gonna pretend I’ve never seen a dick before. Snuck a peek a’right, gotta know the competition. At least I ain’t some blushing little lady about it,’ he reaches out and tries to pinch Daryl’s cheeks. ‘And mine is being _used_ , little brother. Let’s just say Tina was _real_ happy old Merle were back in town.’

‘Oh my God,’ Daryl groans, reaching up to cover his ears. ‘ _Stop_.’

Merle smirks. Then he wags his finger and drops the smile. ‘I’m serious, baby brother. Use it or lose it. Hell, there ain’t nobody you like?’

‘No, there ain’t.’

‘Okay. Okay,’ Merle nods as he looks out over the small town that’s rising up inside Hilltop’s borders. ‘Don’t you worry about it. We’ll find you someone.’

 

 

 

‘Hi, Daryl,’ a girl beams when she enters the stables. Her hair is blonde and almost reaching her waist. It’s pulled into a tight braid that sways when she walks. ‘Merle said you might need some help with something?’

The youngest Dixon frowns as he strokes Khamsin’s nose. He’s sitting on her stable door, resting a bit after the long ride over. The horse nudges his belly, a plea for more treats. He reaches into his pocket and gives her some. ‘Hi Gemma. Don’t know what he meant. I’m good. Thanks though.’

‘You sure?’ the smile falters. ‘I could help get Khamsin settled in.’

‘Nah, I can do it. Ain’t no trouble.’

‘Oh, well…. Okay. See you at dinner then?’

‘Yup!’

It’s only when she walks away, braid swaying lightly, that he remembers the conversation he had with his brother two days ago. He groans and loops his arms around Khamsin’s neck, nuzzling her in turn.

 

 

‘What is so goddamn special about _you_ ,’ Rosita spits out as she jabs a finger into Paul’s chest. ‘Hmm?’

Paul’s shoulders sag now that he notices that he’s being cornered by Rosita and Tara, and not being mugged in broad daylight in the streets of Alexandria. He frowns. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You heard me, gringo.’

Tara answered Paul’s helpless look with an amused smile. ‘They’re trying to set Daryl up with people,’ she explains. ‘It’s not going well.’

‘So what the hell is it about you that turned him into a love-sick puppy?’ Rosita asks as she pokes Paul’s chest again. ‘What color are your eyes?’

‘Blue or green, depending on the light,’ Paul answers automatically.

‘ _Blue or green depending on the_ –‘ Rosita mocks, ‘fuck that. Is it the hair? Because we’ve introduced him to people with long hair, but…’

‘I don’t know,’ the scout says honestly.

‘He doesn’t know,’ Rosita scoffs. She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re no help at all.’

‘Sorry,’ Paul grins but it doesn’t sound like he means it.

 

 

‘Yo, Dare!’

Daryl turns around to watch how a guy comes running over. He’s dressed in workout clothes, dark patches of sweat causes his shirt to cling to his chest. It’s Matt, one of the guards of Hilltop colony. He often trains with Paul to stay sharp. Everyone knows he used to be a black belt because he can’t stop bragging about it.

‘Hey, Matt,’ Daryl grinds out because he’s not too fond of people he doesn’t consider family using his nickname.

‘Tara said you were going to Oceanside soon. Alone.’

‘Yeah. You need something?’

‘No, no,’ Matt laughs, shaking some of the sweaty hair out of his face. ‘I just thought – maybe I could come with you?’

‘Why?’

‘It’s a long road,’ Matt smiles. He lifts an eyebrow. ‘Dangerous.’

Daryl snorts and starts walking again. ‘Yeah, right,’ he mutters sarcastically.

‘I could come with you, watch your back,’ Matt insists. ‘We could camp, and… you know. Hang out.’

‘Oceanside ain’t no two-day trip from Alexandria.’

‘Maybe I could stay with you at Alexandria then,’ Matt tries. ‘I heard your brother has a house there. Must be empty now that he’s here.’

‘I got a room at Rick’s.’

‘Got a big bed, too? Maybe we can sha-‘

‘Matt,’ a sharp voice cuts him off. Paul is leaning against the trailer with folded arms. There’s a light scowl on his face. ‘Go finish your run.’

‘Oh,’ Matt backs away immediately. ‘Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean… sorry, I thought they said you two weren’t…’

‘Go.’

Matt take off running.

Daryl eyes Paul.

‘You looked uncomfortable,’ the man says with a tiny shrug.

‘Yeah, I was. Thanks for gettin’ him off my back.’

‘No problem. Thank you for not exploding in a fit of rage when he told you the road was _dangerous_ ,’ Paul grins as he wiggles his eyebrows.

‘ _This_ close,’ Daryl laughs as he holds his thumb and index finger close together. ‘See you around, Paul.’

In the distance, Merle lowers his binoculars and shakes his head at Tara, who groans.

 

 

‘You know he’s fucking with you, right? With the whole twenty-one thing.’

Daryl opens one eye to see that Merle is looming over him. The teenager is lounging on the couch in Maggie’s room, one leg hanging off it so his boot can rest on the floorboards. Little Hershel is asleep on his chest, a tiny hand curled around the collar of his shirt.

‘Shut the fuck up, Kiss is sleepin’, man,’ he grumbles, putting a protective arm around the little boy.

‘Language,’ Maggie warns absent-mindedly from her desk.

‘He ain’t wakin’ up for nothing. Sleeps like the dead don’t, man. I’m tellin’ ya,’ Merle says with a wagging finger. ‘He’s fucking with ya.’

‘Merle! _Language_.’

Daryl frowns. ‘Hershey is fuckin’ with me? What?’

‘ _Jesus_ is fuckin’ with ya!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie says as she stands up and heads over to the couch where both Dixons are. ‘Did you not hear me the first dozen times? Watch your language around my son or get out.’

Daryl tightens his hold on the boy, ‘no – no, we’ll watch it. Sorry, Maggie.’

‘Sorry, sugar-tits,’ Merle grins as he sits down next to his brother on the couch. ‘The whole twenty-one thing? It’s bull. Age of consent in Georgia was sixteen. In Virginia it was eighteen. And who the fu-frig cares about those rules anymore.’

Daryl eyes his brother suspiciously. ‘Now what? You want me to date Jesus?’

‘I want you to be a goddamn healthy teenager, is what I want.’

Maggie eyes Merle, too. ‘How do you know the age of consent for both states?’

Merle straightens a bit, ‘that’s not the issue right now, Mags. It’s Monster’s withering dick. It’s gonna fall off from disuse.’

The woman lifts an eyebrow. ‘It’s unhealthy how much you worry about his romantic life.’

‘ _Romantic_? Girl, I want him to get his dick wet, I don’t want him-‘

‘Will you _stop_?’ Daryl hisses. He looks like he wants _to_ kick his brother but that would cause Hershel to shift on his chest so he just glares instead.

‘I’m his _brother_ ,’ Merle says smugly, ‘not his parent. I’m trying to get him some _life experience_ , you worry about him gettin’ it. Okay, missy?’

‘But Jesus?’ Maggie muses. ‘Really?’

‘What the hell’s wrong with Paul?’ Daryl asks, craning his neck to look at the woman.

‘You’ve idolized him since you were sixteen, it might not be the healthiest-‘

‘I did not idolize him, he’s an annoying piece of sh- something. He’s annoying. Cracks his joints during dinner. Likes cinnamon toothpaste, ever had that stuff? It’s fuckin’ disgusting. He’s disgusting.’

Merle lifts an eyebrow. ‘But you still wanna suck his dick.’

‘ _Merle_!’ Both of them hiss.

The man holds up his hands and backs away from the couch. ‘Okay. Okay. Just – remember what I said, baby brother.’

‘Won’t,’ the teenager sulks as he closes his eyes. ‘Gonna bleach my brain in a minute.’

‘Same,’ Maggie sighs as she reaches out to stroke her son’s cheek.

Daryl pops one eye open. ‘You’d really mind me datin’ him? He said he were scared of you, you know, way back when. Said you were gonna take his balls for it, probably.’

‘I might,’ Maggie grins before brushing the dark hair out of his blue eyes. ‘If he breaks your heart.’

‘He does that all the damn time.’

‘Drama queen,’ Merle laughs before he leaves the room.

 

 

‘That was _days_ ago,’ Tara whispers. ‘And he still hasn’t made a move.’

‘Maybe Jesus just doesn’t know that he’s making a move because he’s always making a move.’

Everyone looks at Beth.

‘He is,’ she shrugs. ‘It’s kind of their thing, you know? If Daryl’s not hitting on him and Jesus isn’t sassing back, something is wrong.’

Rosita groans. ‘This is useless. We need a clean slate. Give me the list.’

Tara passes her the piece of paper. ‘I still think Jayla is our best shot. He liked her. We know he did.’

‘And we know she shot him down,’ Beth says with a shake of her head. ‘She’s not going to change her mind now. I think she likes someone else, anyway.’

‘Damn,’ Rosita mumbles as she scans the list. ‘There’s so few options. Everyone from the Sanctuary is out, everyone at Alexandria is family, Hilltop doesn’t have any teenagers… It’s the Kingdom or Oceanside.’

‘He’s met Oceanside’s people,’ Tara sighs. ‘We tried setting him up with three people there, didn’t work.’

‘And we tried four people at the Kingdom,’ Rosita nods. ‘No luck.’

‘Maybe we should just-‘

‘ _Keep trying_ ,’ Rosita insists.

Beth and Tara sigh.

 

 

‘Yo, Rick.’ Daryl falls onto a chair across from the cop. ‘Need you to build me three cells. Possibly four. And don’t bother putting in a door, or I’ll just throw the damn keys away. Whatever works for you. Got milk?’

Rick blinks and pushes a bottle towards the teenager. ‘Good morning, Daryl. How have you been? We’re good, thanks for asking. Erm. Why do you need four cells?’

‘Rosita, Tara, Beth and maybe Merle, too,’ Daryl says before he guzzles down the milk.

‘Use a glass,’ Rick grunts as he snaps his fingers and points at the cupboards behind them.

‘Too late,’ Daryl grins. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Anyway, they keep tryin’ to set me up with people. It’s gettin’ weird.’

‘I’ve heard something about that,’ Rick says with a frown. ‘They’re still at it? I thought it was a joke.’

‘Well, I ain’t laughing. Merle even gave me the green light to try datin’ Paul. He’s gettin’ desperate.’

The cop laughs and shakes his head fondly.

‘He tried to get me to tell _Beth_ that she looked pretty, Rick. Stop fucking laughing!’

‘Hmm,’ Rick drums his fingers on the table. ‘Remember that we had a conversation about dating, once? I told you I took Lori to the movies once and you said I wasn’t any help.’

‘No, ya weren’t. What’s your point? I ain’t taking anyone to the movies, man.’

‘Yeah,’ Rick grins, ‘but when you took girls on a movie date, you had to get all the extra stuff, right? Popcorn, nacho’s, soda’s. And there’s some junk food that hasn’t expired yet. Like chocolate.’

Daryl frowns. ‘I don’t get it.’

The cop shifts in his seat and leans on the table with his elbows. ‘I’m saying that there’s still junk food out there. You said Merle is getting desperate. I bet he’d do anything if you told him you had a hot date.’ Then he leans back in his chair with a slight frown, ‘I’m sure it was the same for guys, by the way. If you took a guy to a movie, you probably had to buy the extra’s. I didn’t mean to-‘

‘Yeah whatever,’ Daryl snorts as he shoves himself away from the table, ‘I gotta go.’

Rick lifts an eyebrow.

‘Gonna be late for my date,’ the youngest Dixon laughs as he runs out of the house again.

 

 

‘Big screens!’ Daryl gushes as he walks to the wall in Merle’s house at Alexandria. He holds out his arms, ‘bigger than this wall even! And it was real loud. Could fit, like, a hundred people, or something, I dunno. A lot.’

Judith wrinkles her nose. She looks at her other brother.

Carl nods, ‘it’s true. Everyone in Alexandria could watch the movie at the same time.’

‘And they had seats just like this,’ Daryl grins as he lets himself fall into the lazy chair near the window. ‘Real comfy. They were red, I think. I dunno. I only went once.’

Enid snorts, ‘you only went to the movies _once_ in your whole life?’

The grin fades a little. Daryl shrugs, ‘yeah. Was expensive.’

‘It wasn’t _that_ expensive, you could get a ticket for-‘

‘Okay,’ Carl says loudly, cutting his girlfriend off, ‘start the movie, Dare.’

Enid glances at her boyfriend. ‘Oh,’ she says softly when he gives her a look.

Daryl pushes the button and the screen comes to life. They’ve closed the shutters in Merle’s living room, causing the room to be a bit dark so they can see the movie better. There are snacks on the coffee table. Dented cans of soda, a chocolate bar and Rosita even managed to make him some popcorn. It’s salty because they didn’t have enough butter to waste, but it’s still good.

Judith wriggles out from between Carl and Enid to toddle over to Daryl’s chair, holding her hands up after nudging his leg.

‘Learn to climb,’ the Dixon tells her. ‘It’s a good skill to have. Go on.’

Judith uses his leg as a ladder, clambering onto his lap while Daryl keeps a hand on her back so he can grab her shirt should she tumble off at the last second. She doesn’t.

‘Lion!’ she says because Carl has been teaching her all the animals.

‘Yeah,’ Daryl murmurs as he hugs her close, curling up in the big chair. ‘He’s gonna be king one day. He’s just a prince now.’

‘A little prince!’

Daryl’s hands shake but he nods. ‘Yeah, now hush, Kicker.’ He buries his nose in her blonde hair and watches the movie.

 

 

Merle smiles as he leans against the doorpost. He looks at his little brother, the stuff of legends now, curled up in a big armchair with a little girl sleeping in his arms. The baseball cap askew, hair a tousled mess beneath it, cheek pressed against the armrest.

It’s been a while since he’s seen him so relaxed.

He looks over his shoulder. ‘They’re here, Rick.’

The father walks in and gently untangles his daughter from the Dixon’s arms. ‘I’ll come get Carl in a second.’

‘I’ll send him home,’ Merle says with a wave of his hand. ‘You get going.’

Rick nods and leaves to start making breakfast. It’s early in the morning still, just after sunrise.

Merle walks into the room and kneels down beside his brother. He reaches out to straighten the cap and brush some of the dark hair out of the sun-kissed face. ‘Hot date, hmm?’ he grins to himself. ‘Ya heartbreaker.’

Then he heads to the kitchen and takes out a stack of pans.

He drops them onto the floor.

 

 


	11. Happy Birthday

 

* * *

 

Lateo: Dare + first birthday on the road

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He sits on the porch and carves the number thirteen into the wood with his hunting knife.

Rick is sitting next to him. He’s just a shadow in the darkness. Every couple of minutes he will shift or move his hand, causing the moonlight to catch in his watch. It blinks in and out of existence. The cop has already given up on trying to get him to go to bed so now they just sit next to each other in the darkness.

They found this house a couple of days ago. It’s on the edge of a tiny town, just a cluster of houses really, but there had still been some supplies here so they’re taking a break for as long as they can. A river flows a couple of miles to the north. T-dog, Maggie and Carol have been making the trip every day now to get fresh water.

Nobody talks about how Andrea would have been able to hook them some fish.

It’s the end of the summer. The days are slowly becoming shorter, the nights longer, and the temperature drops when it gets dark.

Daryl is wrapped in a poncho Lori had found him, though he will drape it over Beth’s narrow shoulders when he goes back inside.

‘Midnight,’ Rick says softly when he checks his watch again.

‘Thanks,’ Daryl murmurs because he’d asked the former cop to give him a heads up. He leans down and blows the wood shavings away from the number.

‘Thirteen?’

‘Yeah,’ the teenager says as he traces it. Then he puts his knife away and gets up. ‘It’s my birthday,’ he mutters when he sees that Rick is still looking expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation. ‘I’m gonna go get some sleep now.’

He’s gone before their leader can wish him a happy birthday.

 

 

‘Hey!’ Shane jogs to catch up with the teenager. ‘Rick told me it’s your birthday today. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Daryl shrugs. ‘What were you gonna do? Bake me a damn cake?’

‘We could have thrown you a surprise party,’ the former cop grins as he pushes his hands into his pockets.

‘Got more important things to worry about, right?’

The grin fades. ‘Yeah. Just… I’m sorry, bud.’

‘I don’t give a shit,’ Daryl grunts before whistling sharply to get Rick to hurry up so they can go hunt.

Shane stops walking and watches how the teenager walks away. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry about that, too.’

 

 

‘Happy birthday, Dare,’ Lori says as she puts some food on his plate. It’s steaming hot. They’ve waited until he’d cleaned up after his hunt and the skinning of the rabbits he’d caught.

He notices that he’s getting the largest share. ‘Thanks, ma’am,’ he murmurs, ducking his head a little.

‘Sorry we don’t have any gifts,’ Beth pipes up.

Daryl just shrugs.

The conversation dies. Everyone looks around the circle they’re sitting in, a little uncomfortable.

‘My friends forgot about my birthday once,’ Glenn says suddenly. ‘They all just _forgot_. I didn’t want to call them out and make the feel bad, I didn’t even celebrate it that year, so I just… you know, ignored it. Then, like a month later, one of them suddenly remembered and they threw me a birthday party. Not a sorry-we-forgot party, no, a _birthday_ party. They just changed my birthday to that date.’

Maggie frowns, ‘for that one time?’

‘No!’ Glenn laughs, ‘forever! Every year after, they would throw me a birthday party on that date and just acted like they’d never gotten it wrong.’

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. ‘That’s so weird.’

‘At least they remembered. I’m terrible with dates,’ Rick says as he scratches at his cheek . ‘Shane always has to remind me of birthdays.’

Lori looks at him with wide eyes, ‘you don’t know my birthday?’

‘Of course I do!’ Rick laughs, ‘I meant everyone else’s.’

‘When’s my birthday?’

‘It’s in September,’ Rick says confidently. Then he glances at Shane, who holds up two fingers. ‘The second of September, actually.’

Lori slaps his arm, ‘the third! September _third_!’

‘You set me up?’ Rick reaches out to punch Shane in the shoulder, ‘you asshole! I thought you had my back on this one!’

Everyone laughs as the father launches himself at his best friend, wrestling him to the ground. It ends with Shane in a headlock but Daryl likes to think that he let Rick win this round so he could save some of his dignity.

The conversation picks back up around him. Carol is telling a story about a birthday party she’d been to once, one with terrible music and food that had been nearly inedible. Beth tells about dances at school where the boys were scared to dance too close to girls and everyone snorts when Hershel looks a little relieved.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl can see how Carl eyes his food. The other boy already ate his share but Daryl got the biggest serving so he’s still working on his.

‘Here,’ Daryl gestures with his plate, ‘we can share the rest.’

Carl’s face lights up. ‘Sure?’

‘Yeah.’

The boy scoots closer and eagerly digs in with his fingers, scooping up some of the meat and stuffing it in his mouth.

‘Try chewin’,’ Daryl grins while knocking their shoulders together.

‘Sorry,’ Carl bows his head but shoots him a shy grin.

They eat while listening to the stories. T-dog makes everyone laugh with tales about family barbeques and all the cousins he didn’t know he had, Lori shakes her head while recalling how stressful it had been to organize Carl’s birthday parties and how stupid that all had been in retrospect.

‘What was your favorite birthday party, Daryl?’ Lori asks him.

He’s never had birthday parties like the one she’d just described. There weren’t any of his classmates, no trips to the pool or the movie theater, no cake with his age on it and no balloons in the trailer. Of course Merle had always remembered, had clipped him over the back of his head at breakfast to wish him a happy birthday, or had taken him out into the woods for a day-long hike to celebrate him being a year older.

Once, his dad had taken him to the movies. That had been awesome, too.

Another time, his birthday had been on the same day as a party at the trailer park.

‘It weren’t for my birthday or anything,’ he says as he rubs at his nose with the palm of his hand, ‘but there was this party. Was a bonfire, everyone were there, right? So we stole one of my dad’s bottles of moonshine and made Henry drink, like, _half_ of it.’ Daryl grins. ‘He wouldn’t stop pukin’ the next day. That was pretty funny.’

Lori blinks and glances at Rick. ‘How old were you?’

‘Turned ten.’

‘ _Ten_?’ She sounds horrified.

Shane laughs and holds out his hand, ‘epic. Bet is was gross, right?’

Daryl gives him a high-five, ‘yeah! He kept bitchin’ his head were hurtin’. Was his own damn fault, too. I warned him. When my dad drank half a bottle, he’d be cranky the next day, ya know? Not real sick, but still… And he drank every night! It was Henry’s first time.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ Shane says with a shake of his head.

‘Right,’ he beams at the cop. He misses the concerned looks the others share.

 

 

Everyone is asleep, except for Daryl and Hershel. The older man is sitting outside on the porch to keep guard while the boy is sitting on the armrest of the sofa, looking down at Lori, Rick and Carl. Lori’s lying half on top of her husband, sleeping peacefully on his chest, one of her legs between his. Her hand is resting on the back of Carl’s head, who is curled into Rick’s other side, face pressed against his dad’s shoulder. Rick’s head is titled towards him in his sleep. They’re a mess of limbs and love.

Daryl chews on his thumb.

Lori had insisted that he should sleep on the couch tonight. It’s still his birthday after all.

But he gets up and moves across the room. He doesn’t really understand why he feels a little nervous when he settles down on the floor and scoots closer with baited breath.

Shane’s eyes snap open.

Daryl stares at him, a deer caught in headlights.

Shane’s eyes droop closed for a second before he reaches out, movements a little clumsy due to sleep. He wraps an arm around the boy’s waist to drag him closer. ‘Hey bud,’ he murmurs. ‘Good birthday?’

‘Real good,’ Daryl whispers, daring to scoot closer still and put his head on Shane’s chest. He tries not to put too much pressure on the man, the muscles in his neck straining with effort.

Shane hums and puts a warm hand in his hair, forcing the boy to come to rest on his chest. ‘Good. Get some sleep, Dare. Happy birthday.’

 

 


	12. Buddy

 

* * *

 

 

He’s lying with Jayla under the apple tree. Arms folded behind his head as he stares at the blue sky and green leaves, an unlit cigarette between his lips. The girl’s head is a comforting weight on the softness of his belly. Her crutches are leaning against the tree.

‘You’re very quiet today,’ she says as she reaches out the stroke the grass beside them. It’s wet with dew.

‘Don’t have anything to say.’

‘Yeah. Whole new world.’

It’s been two months since the war. Alexandria is still mostly rubble and ashes, and Hilltop too crowded. Ezekiel has taken him in once more for the time being. He will return home soon enough, can’t stand to be away from his family for too long even though Beth is here to train with the doctors so he isn’t completely alone.

The hurt is everywhere in Alexandria. The graveyard has freshly dug graves, people still put fresh flowers on them. Everything is still too raw for him to have any peace of mind there. The Kingdom lost people too, but Daryl didn’t know most of them.

The grave outside of the walls, near the little cottage, has fresh flowers every time he visits.

The king is grieving. For his people and her. He hasn’t asked about the carved Cherokee rose on the cross. Maybe he never will.

Some stories are theirs alone.

‘If you could do anything, anything at all, what would you like to do?’

Daryl frowns. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on,’ Jayla swats at his chest lazily. ‘Imagine that there were no walkers anywhere, no people we don’t know, you had your bike and unlimited gas. Or a plane you could fly! You could do anything, go anywhere, what would you do?’

‘Just drive, I guess. Leave Georgia, Virginia, just… just _leave_. See how big this place really is.’ He chews on the filter of his cigarette for a second. ‘Or I’d go to Cambodia.’

‘Cambodia?’ the girl echoes, raising her head so she can look at him. ‘Why Cambodia?’

‘Ezekiel said there were tigers there. When we were talkin’ about Shiva, he said he’d wished she’d grown up in those jungles. I wanna see them in the wild. Maybe there are more now we ain’t huntin’ them no more. Ten tigers,’ he grins excitedly, ‘twenty! Maybe even a _hundred_!’

‘You want to see a hundred tigers?’

‘Yeah,’ he breathes. ‘Wanna see them all.’

‘They’d eat you.’

‘Shiva didn’t.’

Jayla laughs, ‘Shiva grew up in a zoo, she got used to people. The ones in Cambodia? They’re wild.’

‘I can be wild.’

‘You are,’ she grins, poking his belly before lying down again. ‘But they’d still eat you.’

‘Psh. They wouldn’t. I’m like… I’m a tiger whisperer.’ He laughs and plucks the cigarette out of his mouth, putting it back in the crumpled package. ‘What about you? Where would you want to go?’

‘Home.’

‘Where’s that?’

She shrugs. ‘Not too far from here, actually. Just across the state line. It was a small town. It was nice, you know? Pretty.’

He lifts himself to his elbows. ‘We could go sometime. You know how to ride, we could go there.’

She shakes her head. ‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

‘Because it ain’t pretty no more?’

‘Because it wouldn’t be home anymore. The house would still be there, I suppose. The same street, the same mailbox, everything. But I’d walk in and shout that I’m home and nobody would answer. My dad wouldn’t be waiting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, my mom wouldn’t coming home from work any second now.’ She turns to her side and curls up against him. ‘It wouldn’t be real anymore.’

He doesn’t want to ask what happened to them. Doesn’t want her to relive any of that.

So he just reaches down and puts a hand on her curls, stroking her hair while they doze in the sunshine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

‘Sorry you’ll never go to Cambodia.’

‘Don’t really wanna be a tiger’s lunch,’ he mutters. ‘This place is a’right for now.’

She presses her nose into the softness of his belly. ‘Yeah,’ she answers. ‘It is.’

 

 

‘Said I’d teach ya, right?’

Rachel stares at him with wide eyes. Her mouth is hanging open.

Daryl smirks and reaches out to stroke a hand over Khamsin’s neck. The horse neighs softly, feet pounding the loose earth impatiently, always so eager to get going. She pulls a little at the reins the teenager is holding.

‘Easy,’ Daryl murmurs, tightening his hold on her. ‘Easy, girl. Come on now, ain’t got all day,’ he tells the little girl.

‘What?’ Rachel asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

‘Can’t learn how to ride without actually getting’ on a horse, midget,’ Daryl tells her. ‘So come here or get lost. Your choice.’

‘You’ll teach me?’

‘Said I would, didn’t I? Way back when. Sorry it took a while,’ he says with a shrug. ‘War and all.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t think… you’ll let me ride her?’

‘Nah, saddled her up for show. See another damn horse nearby? Good lord.’

She grins at him and then comes striding over. ‘Nobody is allowed to ride her!’

‘That ain’t true,’ he scoffs. ‘Carl learned to ride her, Beth rides her all the damn time. Keeps stealin’ her, the little minx. You better not get any ideas. You like it, you gotta beg Ezekiel for your own, ain’t sharin’ her with any more of you. Now come on.’

The girl comes to stand beside him, a shaking hand patting the strong shoulder.

‘Okay,’ Daryl says, ‘I’m gonna lift you up some, you put your foot there and pull yourself up, okay? Just sit for now, get used to that.’

‘Okay.’

He does just that. His hands on the girl’s waist, grunting a bit when he gives her a boost as she can get her foot in the stirrup. She manages to grab hold of the saddle and pull herself up. Khamsin takes a couple of steps, neighing again and flicking her ears.

‘I’m right here,’ Daryl soothes her. ‘All good. I’m right here. Come on,’ he clacks his tongue when Rachel sits to get the horse to move. They walk around the community, Rachel tall and proud on the big horse, Daryl right next to it with the reins twisted around his wrist.

‘Here,’ he shakes them off. ‘Hold on and tell her where you want her to go. Gentle! Real gentle with her. And keep your feet – yeah, like that. Keep your back straight, don’t slouch.’

He slowly takes a couple of steps backwards and watches how the little girl guides the horse in a big circle. Or maybe it’s Khamsin who guides Rachel because the little girl just stares down at the horse in amazement, not even bothering to tug at the reins.

One circle. Two. Three.

‘You’re doing great,’ Daryl laughs as he climbs onto a fence. ‘Faster?’

‘ _No_!’

‘Not so loud,’ Daryl warns when Khamsin makes a side-step, ‘you’ll spook her. Try ‘nd make her turn the other way now.’

Khamsin refuses.

‘Tug at the reins, Rach!’ He laughs when he sees that Rachel’s face is screwed up in concentration, eyes narrowed and then suddenly wide when Kahmsin does as told and turns the other way.

He teaches her how to stop and start, how to make Khamsin walk a little faster and then slower, how to take turns and sit properly. After half an hour, he jumps down from the fence and holds his hand up for a high-five.

Rachel leans down and slaps their palms together.

He helps her down safely. ‘So, like it?’

‘Yeah!’ the girl beams. ‘Thanks! Can we do it again?’

‘Sure, next time I stop by,’ Daryl leads Khamsin over to a water bucket, tying her to the fence and walking away with Rachel, listening to her excited chatter.

 

A little later, he unties his horse again, crossbow and pack on his back this time.

She dances on the spot with excitement.

‘Yup’ Daryl laughs, hugging her for a second before putting his boot in the stirrup and swinging himself onto her back. He pats her neck, ‘we’re going home, girl.’ He takes the reins and spots Rachel peeking at them from behind one of the houses. ‘Feel like showin’ off?’

She always does.

He clacks his tongue and digs his heels in, urging her forward and giving her free reins, not holding her back.

She’s off like a bullet leaving a gun.

Wind rushing past, the trees just a blur.

He laughs and laughs and laughs while she carries him back home.

 

 

‘That’s a pretty clever system,’ Paul points out as they walk along the wall in Washington. There are bells perched on top of it, connected to each other with sturdy ropes. If one of them rings, they will all follow suit and form a neat alarm system.

Daryl frowns as he looks up at it, hand trailing over the sheets of metal. ‘Wouldn’t it attract walkers?’

‘Suppose you have to pick your battles now,’ Paul shrugs. ‘Walkers can be dealt with. It’s other people they’re worried about here. Every community in the state is bound to seek out Washington eventually. They’ve survived attacks with this system in place. Everyone here knows how to fight.’

‘Guess,’ the teenager nods. ‘We still got in though.’

‘They weren’t expecting Dare the Trojan Horse Dixon.’

Daryl screws up his nose while he looks at the scout.

Paul smirks for a second before telling him the story about trickery and wooden horses. At the end, the youngest Dixon scoffs and mutters that of course he would love that kind of story, the sneaky thief. Paul shoves his shoulder but laughs.

They pass a couple of houses. Most of the residents greet them happily, raising their hands and shouting their names. Daryl ducks his head but still raises a hand while Paul calls back to them.

‘So where are your friends?’ the scout asks as he looks around, expecting either Amaka or Taiwo to show up any second.

‘Amaka is workin’,’ Daryl shrugs. ‘She’s patrollin’ the border.’

‘And Taiwo?’

‘Dunno,’ Daryl mutters. ‘Sleepin’ I guess. He had a night watch.’

‘Ah,’ Paul bites back a grin because he sleeps in the same room as Daryl when they visit Washington. When he’d woken up in the middle of the night to take a leak, the teenager hadn’t been in his bed. A guard outside had assured him that he’d seen the Dixon earlier, heading towards the watchtower, claiming to need some air.

‘What?’ Daryl asks with narrowed eyes.

‘Nothing,’ Paul says quickly, a spring in his step now. ‘It’s good that he’s getting some rest, I suppose.’

‘Hmm.’

‘We should head over to talk to Mason soon. I don’t think he’s ready to make a deal with the Saviors yet, but maybe we can talk him into sending a party to Oceanside, just so we can introduce the two communities to each other. I think they could help each other a lot. Or maybe we should wait until the party at Alexandria, since everyone will be coming there anyway. No need to risk the long trek when the market is being set up. What do you think?’ He looks at the teenager but realizes that Daryl is no longer walking next to him. He turns and spots him a couple of steps behind him. ‘Daryl?’

Daryl is staring at something near one of the houses. His mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

Paul whirls around and searches for what might have caught the teenager’s attention.

‘A dog,’ Daryl breathes. ‘They got a dog.’

A golden retriever is lying in the grass in one of the gardens. He seems to be sleeping, head between its paws and coat shining in the sun. He is wearing a collar and is tied with a long rope to the fence.

Slowly, Daryl walks towards the garden.

‘Careful, you don’t know if-‘

‘He’s friendly,’ a neighbor says as he walks out of his house, heading towards his job. ‘You can pet him if you want. He loves the attention.’

‘What’s his name?’ Daryl asks, a little breathless.

‘Buddy.’

Paul snorts softly. He thanks the neighbor in passing and leans against the fence. Daryl makes his way up the garden path, feet silent as if he’s hunting but the dog must feel his presence because he wakes up and blinks sleepily before getting up, tail wagging.

Paul watches how Daryl kneels down, inviting the dog to come to him.

It does. Floppy ears bouncing as he walks over, sniffing at the boy’s held out hand, licking his fingertips before coming closer to lick his face, too.

The teenager chuckles.

Paul smiles when he sees how Daryl’s face lights up. He’s nearly knocked to the ground when the dog tries to climb into his lap, eager to soak up the affection the boy gives him. Gentle hands stroking the back and scratching at his head, a tail wagging so hard that it’s just a blur.

For the first time in a very long while, Paul misses his old smartphone. They use long distance radio’s now, voices thin over the line but clear unless there’s a storm nearby one of the outposts. It’s nice to be able to hear their friend’s voices, checking in with each other to make sure that everyone is still safe and sound. But he misses capturing moments like this.

Daryl in the grass, laughing freely and playing with a dog that keeps trying to lick his cheek.

He wishes Maggie could see him now.

Merle, too.

 

 


	13. Merle

 

* * *

 

**Anon: Merle + finding his baby brother**

 

**This is the last of the Founding Fathers prompts. Thank you so much for everything. I hope you've enjoyed reading them as much as I did writing them.**

And if you really, really loved the stories, please consider buying me a coffee [here](http://ko-fi.com/jamesjohneye).

**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

 

 

‘They’re saying they might let us go after all of this,’ Mitchell says as they sit in the back of the truck. ‘If we can control this.’

Peters scoffs. ‘But we can’t. Wake the hell up, man. The _dead_ are _walking_. They’ll say anything to make us die for them.’

‘We ain’t dyin’,’ Merle mutters as he looks out of the truck. Far in the distance, a city is on fire after being bombed. He’s never been in a real war before and it hasn’t really sunk in that he is in one now. Maybe that’s why he’s one of the few who has managed to keep a level head. ‘We’re going to get the job done and we’re going home.’

‘If that’s still there,’ Peter says. ‘They say this… _thing_ is everywhere.’

‘Man, shut the fuck up,’ O’Connor moans as he aims a kick at the man. ‘Didn’t you read the pamphlets during training? Gotta keep up the morale. So,’ he stretches and grins before licking his lips. ‘What’s home, Dixon? A little hot blonde?’

Merle snorts. ‘Little hot blondes don’t wait for your ass to get out of the big house. Nah. Nothing like that, but I’ll pick one up along the way.’

Some of the guys laugh and cheer.

‘So what’s home then?’ O’Connor leers. ‘Your momma?’

‘My baby brother,’ Merle says as he watches the burning city fade, leaving only an orange sky behind. ‘My momma burned to nothing, but he’s still here. We’re still here.’

‘The dead walking and you think your baby brother managed to crawl out of that hell hole you grew up in?’

Merle spits on the asphalt that flashes by. ‘We’ve survived worse.’

 

 

He watches how people die. Nobody holds formation, everyone just empties their clip in a panic, nobody registering that only the ones hit in the head stay down. Blockades fall. Safe-zones are breached.

Merle watches how people die.

Just before he grabs an automatic rifle from a fallen soldier, just before he grabs a knife, grenades, rations, the keys to a truck. Before all of that; he just watches how the world ends. People he knows, men he’d sworn to die with, others he’d sworn to protect. There are just too many. He can’t save them all, he decides.

One.

_One_ , he prays. _Just let me save one_.

He leaves them to the dead. And doesn’t look back.

 

 

He makes it home.

 

 

He has nightmares about that moment.

Bursting into the trailer, scanning the dusty living room before running towards the bedroom they used to share. It was empty, but sometimes Daryl’s body is resting on the small bed in the corner, or he’s scratching at the tiny window with broken hands, already dead but still moving. Sometimes he finds their father sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette while staring at the wall and refusing to tell where the hell his baby brother is.

He wakes up screaming, gasping, crying, or just his eyes snapping open in horror at the only thing that had registered when he’d searched that trailer; _Daryl is gone_.

There had been dust everywhere when he’d entered. Nothing disturbed, no old blood stains covering the floor, no splatter patterns on the walls. He’d slowly walked into their old bedroom. His little brother’s bed unmade as always, a mess of ratty old blankets, sneakers kicked under Merle’s own bed. Barely hidden drawings peeking out of drawers.

He’d looked around.

The bow was missing from the top of the closet.

He’d looked inside but couldn’t be sure whether Daryl had always owned so little clothing. Maybe Will had just grabbed the bow and ran. The fact that it’s missing doesn’t mean that Daryl was alive when they’d abandoned their home.

Merle had walked over to the bed and shoved the matrass aside.

The picture was gone.

Now, he remembers falling onto that bed, staring up at the ceiling like his little brother used to do, and then just _laughing_.

The little shit had made it out at least.

 

 

There’s no grave. That’s what Merle doesn’t understand.

He’s standing in the quarry, surrounded by tracks of cars and people, of walkers and animals, all too faded for him to try to follow. He’s never been much of a hunter, no matter how badly Will had tried teach him. Shame had filled his heart at first, when he was young still and got confused easily in the woods. Wandering aimlessly, screaming for their dad who had left him behind to try and teach him a lesson.

He remembers one day, when he’d been dropped somewhere unfamiliar with the challenge to find his way home. Except he hadn’t. Hours and hours of walking, just dragging his feet over the forest floor. Night had come for him with a vengeance, causing him to be so scared that he couldn’t control his bladder anymore.

Six years old and terrified.

A friend of their dad’s had found him at long last. Had carried him back to his mother’s warm embrace, but he still remembers how Will had just sneered at him before spitting Tabaco into the tall grass. No apology. No kiss to his forehead, no whispered lies about how everything was okay now.

He’d grown accustomed to that over the years.

It had honestly surprised him when Daryl was born and Will seemed to actually care about the boy. Letting him ride his broad shoulders, chasing him through the woods before pretending to be tackled into a pile of dead leaves by the kid, running a loving hand through the wild blond hair.

Merle hadn’t been jealous.

He’d been waiting for the tide to turn.

People don’t change. He was fifteen years old when Daryl was born and he watched with hooded eyes how Will pretended to be better than he was. But he was there when true colors showed.

When Daryl proved to be just like any other kid; clumsy when they learn to walk and scared of animals lurking in a forests’ darkness. When his shrill voice would ruin hunts, or he missed his shot with the crossbow. When their mom died and money became an issue and Daryl still needed to go to school and asked questions like why he wasn’t allowed to go on school trips they couldn’t afford.

True colors showed through alcohol and rage.

He’d tried to take the brunt of it. Always telling Daryl to go hide somewhere when he saw Will rise from his chair with narrowed eyes and always hiding his own wounds from the kid, asking his girlfriends to patch him up before the boy woke up. Bloodied shirts thrown away. Stiffness and pain explained by a rude joke while slapping a girl on the ass.

He took him everywhere just so Daryl wouldn’t be home. Dragged him to parties and bars, too scared to leave him at Will’s mercy.

Sometimes he would come home from work to find his little brother sitting on Will’s knee, giggling over a comic his dad had bought him. That had hurt. Not because Daryl wouldn’t come running up to him to say hi, not because he wanted that attention. It had hurt because he knew it wouldn’t last.

It was easier to hate Will. He was the monster with the belt after all. Merle knew that.

Daryl didn’t.

He got the kisses and the cuddles, the quiet moments. He grew up loving Will enough to forgive him for the sudden flashes of anger, for the broken beer bottles, for the way everyone seemed to look at them.

Daryl loved Will.

And that’s why Merle doesn’t understand why there is no grave. The lord knows he would have left that son of a bitch behind without a second thought, but Daryl would have honored him.

Merle looks up at Will’s crossbow that’s hanging high up in a tree.

He leaves it there.

He has no use for it.

 

 

The months after that are just a blur of open roads and dark, lonely nights. it takes him two weeks to give up on Atlanta, finally convinced that the boy is not going to magically appear next to a burned down refugee camp. He thinks that might have been where Will was planning to go, but then the whole city got bombed and he’d led the boy to the quarry instead.

That, Merle had understood.

But something had happened to Will, he wouldn’t have left his bow like that for anything, and now it was just Daryl and whoever was looking after him.

And Merle had no idea what their plans are. All military bases were wiped out by the time he got to Atlanta, all refugee camps are a lie. He wanders through the country side, aimless and only driven forth by his own hunger. He loots homes of the people he used to know, stays in their neighbors house for a while because he’d vowed never to sleep under Will’s roof again.

In the end, he has to face the truth that Daryl isn’t coming home.

So he takes his bike and leaves, just like he had done all those years ago.

Except now there’s no boy sleeping in his bed. Curled up under a pile of blankets despite the Georgia heat, thumb in his mouth and with hair so soft that Merle can never resist pressing a kiss into it.

 

 

Washington, he decides.

The only landmark he can think of that will draw hopefuls and fools after months of death and hunger. The capital. Surely, that must have survived all of this.

The road is long and filled with far more dangerous things than walkers.

People.

He joins a group early on and watches how they, too, slowly decay into monsters. An infection, just like the walkers bear, just in their brains. How they’re better and worthy and how only they have the right to live, no matter the cost. The group allows him to sleep at night and not worry too much about his empty stomach. He fits in with his loud mouth and brass balls, asserting himself as a second in command easily. People respect how easily he handles his weapons, his military training, his sheer strength.

And he watches.

And he waits.

Until one day he sees that sneer on their leader’s face.

A teenager is standing over an innocent victim, gun shaking hopelessly as he’s blinded by tears, scared of what everyone tries to make him do. The woman is begging for her life, kneeling beside a building she’d used for shelter. It’s their shelter now. Their food. Their painkillers.

The teenager pisses himself.

Merle sighs and walks over, grabbing the gun out of his hands and shoving him out of the way. Flicks the safety off. Stretches his arm, takes aim. And pulls the trigger.

Their leader sneers at the teenager who falls onto his knees, sobbing.

For a moment, he thinks about being the guy who’d found that boy with his spoiled pants on the forest floor. The one who’d hugged him tightly despite the piss, who’d told him that his momma was waiting for him. He could be that guy.

But he isn’t. And he needs a distraction.

‘Pussy.’ He spits onto the ground next to the teenager and walks away.

Later, the group will pounce on the boy when their leader turns a blind eye. There will be teasing and bullying and far worse things than that.

While all that is going on, he will slip away into the night and never come back.

 

 

He avoids people after that.

He sees a sign for a refugee camp near train tracks, but it’s crossed out with red dirt. It almost looks like blood.

He hitches his backpack higher and keeps walking.

Somebody got the right idea.

There is no sanctuary left.

 

 

It’s almost a month later that he almost dies. Washington isn’t that far anymore but he has ran out of gasoline, water and food. When the bike finally splutters and stops running altogether, he lets himself fall into a ditch.

A blue sky above him. No clouds.

An hour passes and Merle laughs because of course it would happen like this. Too weak to get up, but also no walker in sight. Rock and a hard place.

For months he has kept the thought at bay, but now he wonders whether Daryl has died yet. When he started out, he’d prayed for the answer to be no. That he was out there somewhere with that shy grin, those silent footsteps and the blood that made him tough as nails. But he’s seen the new world now. He knows what people do to other people to survive.

He knows what he has done, himself.

He doesn’t want that for his baby brother. He doesn’t want those blue eyes to turn dark, that fiendish smile to turn into that cold sneer.

With a shudder, he thinks it might be best if his baby brother died being himself rather than a ghost of Will.

 

 

‘The hell? Hey, this one is still alive!’

‘You got to be kidding me. Hey.’ Someone kicks him in the stomach. He coughs. ‘Hey, you gone, man? Or are you still with us?’

He lifts his hand and raises his middle finger.

‘He’s with us, all right,’ a man laughs. ‘Get our new recruit some water, asshole. You know what Negan says about shit we find on the road; finders keepers.’

 

 

The truck comes to a halt. Both of the cabin doors open and a man and woman jump out.

Merle eyes them lazily, crossing his arms and trying to predict which one of them is going to catch a bullet. Probably the man, because dragging a sobbing woman back to their community softens hearts quicker, they’ve found. That, or teenagers.

He’s not really proud of what he’s a part of, but he justifies it by thinking that it’s temporary. He’s been with this group for two weeks now, just long enough to get his strength back and start thinking about leaving again. He hates people and he hates this life he’s leading now, but is too afraid to leave it all behind. Too afraid that there had been hope, that somehow, by some goddamn miracle, Daryl had survived all of this.

A fool’s hope. But his.

Another person climbs out of the truck. Much smaller than the other two and younger, too. Merle sighs. Another teenager. He’s heard what this group had done to another community and another teenager. Drunken boasting about how they had dragged him forward, made him kneel and beg before killing him in front of his family and friends. He almost feels sorry for this kid.

Heavy boots, sturdy by the looks of it, dark jeans which have been torn open at the right knee, a red rag hanging from a back pocket. A black leather jacket, dark shirt. It’s a boy, Merle realizes with a wince. A mess of hair hiding beneath a ragged looking baseball cap that he’s wearing backwards. The boy jumps down from the truck, takes a stumbling step which causes him to turn his back on the group for just a second.

Angel wings.

White against black. So familiar that it takes Merle’s breath away. The sight of them feel like a punch to his gut. Shaking hands land on the gas tank of his bike as he tries to steady himself.

He watches how the boy goes to stand next to the man and woman. Eyes down but still glaring something fierce. There’s anger in the thin line of his mouth, the balled-up fists and squared shoulders. He refuses to look up, the world as it is now has only made him warier of strangers, and being held at gunpoint does nothing to put him at ease, of course.

He’s taller than Merle remembers him being. No longer that little boy who’d hide under his bed, or the one who’d press himself against him on the couch while they watched cartoons together on Saturday mornings. There are muscles now, making him broader, and his hair is darker. The innocent blonde boy erased by time.

But he’s still Daryl.

With that famous Dixon glare, those striking blue eyes, the beauty mark that others would now mistake for a spot of dirt. Merle knows it’s not. Knows it’s always been there, since the day the boy was born, yawning up at him and not yet realizing that he was falling asleep in his big brother’s arms.

His baby brother, Merle thinks hazily. _Alive_.

He watches how the teenager hands over his gun. The movement sure and unafraid, fingers gliding over metal in an oddly familiar way. Someone taught him how to shoot. Will, probably. Maybe he finally managed to stay away from the booze and drugs and do something useful with his life, like saving Daryl’s.

‘Yeah, you just took it,’ Daryl snarls when one of Merle’s guys asks whether they have more stuff. The sounds more growls and angry hisses than actual words. His voice is deeper now. He ducks his head a little, stepping closer to the truck and the man who’d been driving it.

The man, a redhead in a dress uniform, subtly shifts his weight so he’s shielding the boy.

‘T, take our little man to the back of the truck. Start inside the back bumper, work your way to the front.’

Merle knows what happens when they find something.

He knows what happens when they don’t.

It’s the exact same thing, of course. A bullet in the brain, the rest of them dragged back to whichever hole they crawled out of. A blind man can tell that these people belong to a community. Daryl looks healthy, even. Healthier than Merle has ever seen him. Skin bronzed by the sun, eyes shining brightly and with actual meat on his bones.

‘I’ll do it,’ Merle says quickly when one of the men gets off their bike to walk over to Daryl. He gets up instead, rushing forward to beat them all to it. Long strides, the same blue eyes flashing a warning at his brother’s friends.

Daryl stares at him.

Merle wonders what he sees. A Dixon, of course, looking more like Will than he’d ever admit. With his broad shoulders and weathered face, the wrinkles setting in around his mouth and eyes. A buzz cut to hide that he’s going bald early. He’s older now, thirty years old and so tired, but his eyes are still bright.

Merle grabs his little brother by the shoulder, needing to feel him, needing to yank him closer. Fingers digging into the familiar leather of Will’s vest, and the warmth Daryl has always exuded. Instead of pulling him into a hug like he so desperately wants, he pushes the boy towards the back of the truck.

Daryl stumbles when he tries to look at his brother over his shoulder.

‘Eyes front,’ Merle barks. ‘What the hell, pip squeak.’

‘Don’t – what – it’s-‘

It’s _me_ , he wants to say.

‘Shut up!’ Merle hisses and clips him over the back of the head.

‘Man, don’t you rem-‘

Of course Merle remembers. He shoves his brother so hard that the boy falls over. A soft moan spills over his lips as his hands scrape over the asphalt. It doesn’t matter to Merle. Those things get better and they have far more important things to think about now. He grabs the boy’s arm and hauls him to his feet again.

They’re outnumbered, for starters. Just the two of them, like old times. There’s hope, though. Maybe it is the four of them, with Daryl’s friends. Dixon’s are nothing if not skittish, so whatever makes the boy seek refuge in their shadows, it’s something as strong as blood.

They round the truck and Merle sighs softly. His shoulders sag. ‘You got anything here?’

Daryl stares at him.

‘Snap out of it, kid,’ Merle snarls. ‘Ya got anything?’

‘RPG. In the box.’

Merle grins.

 

 

Seconds later, his former friends are nothing but smoke and ashes. He watches how they burn and only regrets the fact that his bike is being swallowed by flames as well. It’s worth it though because Daryl is sinking to his knees in front of him.

‘Hey monster,’ Merle grins. He throws the RPG into the soft grass.

Daryl stares at him. There are tears dripping down his cheeks.

And then he’s getting up as Merle yanks at his wrists, jumping up into his embrace. Arms around his neck, thin legs around his waist, and the sound of his little brother crying into his chest. He’s heavier than before and smells of sweat and dirt, but that doesn’t matter. Merle tightens his grip on him, needs to have him closer, needs to feel that he is _alive_.

‘I’m here,’ Merle breathes into the boy’s ear and his heart breaks when Daryl sobs grow louder and fingers dig into his shoulders desperately. ‘I’m here, monster.’

 

 

Will is dead.

Daryl is looking up at Merle with angry tears in his eyes, mouth just a thin line. The question of; _where the fuck where you?_ still ringing between them.

Merle reaches out and brushes the dark hair out of his brother’s face. He can’t bring himself to say that he’s sorry that Will is dead. He’s not. He won’t miss him, will never mourn him, but he can see that it still hurts his brother. That he misses him, mourns him, that he had loved him because nobody had told him that that’s not how you love.

Not with pain and then apologetic touches, not with a heart that’s warped and rotten and only capable of kindness when it gets something in return. That love isn’t the worry over a bloodline, or the memory of a woman who had the same smile as your boy keeping you from doing things far crueler than unbuckling a belt and teaching a lesson.

Merle doesn’t know much about love.

He touches his brother’s jaw tenderly.

But he knows enough.

 

 

The town is overrun.

Merle watches with disinterest. A tower has come down, taking a part of a wall with it. The community is swarmed by walkers, hundreds of them. It’s lost. There’s no point in going into that hell hole for anyone. If they survive all that, hell, good on them but Merle isn’t going to risk his own life to help them out.

There’s only one person he would risk all of that for, and he’s sitting in his lap, safe and sound.

Except Daryl turns towards the door, frantically trying to push it open when he sees a woman named Maggie in trouble on top of the wall. The boy grabs at the door handle, screaming her name.

The two they’d met earlier are important to Daryl, Merle knows that by the way they’d interacted earlier. The man, Abraham, with crude jokes and teasing jabs, but his hands gentle when he’d reached out to touch the boy. And the woman, Sasha, with her warm smiles. That she’d crouched down in front of the boy, inspecting the wounds on his leg. But most of all how Daryl had let it happen.

How he’d grinned at Abraham or snapped back with sharp words, never fearing a punishment.

How he’d leaned into Sasha’s touch.

They’re important to him, but this woman…. Daryl yanks the door open and climbs on top of a truck, screaming her name. And when Maggie sees him….

Merle looks away for a second, a sour feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

His brother knows how to fight.

In the light of the burning lake, he takes on walker after walker. Blood is dripping down his arms, splash marks on his face, boots leaving red footprints in his wake. He’s quick and efficient, a snake striking. Agile and clearly used to taking advantage of his surroundings when dealing with walkers. Jumping up on cars and fences to get the high ground, sliding over grass to escape grasping fingers, shattering knees with well-trained kicks.

Will didn’t teach him this. None of this, Merle realizes when Daryl grabs a girl’s hand to drag her out of the way of a lunging walker, whirling around to jab his knife in its eye while trusting the girl to get her bearings quickly enough to fend off another incoming threat.

She gets the job done.

They flash a grin at each other, panting, before running on.

Merle fights alongside his brother.

The battle lasts for hours, it seems. But when it ends, Merle watches how his brother sways on the spot. Soaked in sweat and blood, so tired that he almost falls down.

A single breath of a word has him looking up, however, eyes bright and hopeful.

‘Dare…’

It’s a man. About the same age as Merle, with dark hair and dark eyes. He reaches out with a trembling hand, a smile blossoming on his face as the boy launches himself into the embrace, grabbing hold of him desperately. ‘Thank God,’ he says as he hugs the teenager, ‘are you okay?’

Later, Merle will learn that his name is Glenn.

And later still, he will learn how to deal with the jealousy he feels when Daryl searches for the Korean’s comfort instead of his.

Maggie joins the two, embracing them both, kissing the boy’s forehead and then her husband’s lips. Her sister comes running over, with the rest of their community behind her.

Merle watches how everyone moves to greet his little brother. Sees the loving touches, the warm embraces, the playful ruffling of his long hair, sees the cupped cheeks, the eyes meeting, the smile that’s conjured onto the boy’s face.

Until one man brushes past him, never even looking at him and without saying a single word.

Daryl looks shocked for a moment. ‘Carl?’ he asks. ‘Judy?’

It’s Carl who’s shot, apparently.

Daryl falls into step next to the man. A silent shadow that doesn’t even reach his shoulder, but with a blade that’s dripping with blood. The man seems to find comfort in the fact that a Dixon ghosts in his footsteps. The shoulders relax just a fraction, and he pauses when he reaches the door.

One trembling hand comes to rest on Daryl’s cheek. The thumb brushes over the beauty mark there.

‘I’m fine,’ Daryl assures him.

Rick leaves.

 

 

Some of them knew Will.

They look at Merle like he’s the dirt beneath their feet and flock protectively around Daryl with bared teeth and a hint of their knives. It doesn’t make sense to him. Daryl is a Dixon. Will’s son. And despite him now being raised by this group of misfits, he will always be Will’s son. It’s clear from the way his temper flares or his silence becomes so loud that it’s deafening. In the way he scoffs and sneers at being commanded to do something.

But they love him so.

Daryl tells him what happened after everything went down. About Will, and Shane’s group, about Rick, that winter on the road, the prison they’d found. How that had fallen, too. Another long road with Beth at his side, and then Terminus.

There are tears in his eyes when he tells him about Shane and that baseball bat. That knife. The blood going down the drain, how they hadn’t had time to bury him. He hadn’t cried when he’d told his brother about how he’d burned their father, but he cries for the man who’d raised him during the apocalypse.

It’s in that moment that Merle decides that these people might be worth it. That this could be a group he could stick with. For his brother, of course.

So he tries.

 

 

It almost falls apart because of _Jesus_. Go figure.

He doesn’t even understands why he reacts like that. Or maybe he does… It’s not the fact that his little brother seems to be into guys that sets him off. He doesn’t care about that, none of his business as long as he gets treated right. It’s the fact that everyone else seems to know before him.

That Abraham is joking about it with Glenn, that Rick has that smirk on his face, that Maggie chuckles over an incident with a damn cow that somehow has something to do with it. Everyone knows, and his own damn brother didn’t tell him.

It makes him feel still more like an outsider. Like he doesn’t belong.

And in true Dixon fashion, he’d just lashed out with the most hurtful thing he could imagine; rejection.

Blood turning on blood.

He’d regretted it the moment Daryl’s eyes went wide, clearly not remembering to never trust what comes out of a Dixon mouth in anger. He’d wanted to apologize, or at least tell the boy to not be such a little bitch about it and lighten up, but Daryl had ran in terror.

That had made him see red because he’s not like Will. He’s not. _He’s not_.

But he’s so scared of turning into him.

He’s scared of becoming just another Dixon who’d failed his own.

 

 

They make up, of course. That’s what they do and they’re all that’s left.

About a month later, he sits in a room of Barrington House, holding a book in his hands. The doctor has just left, but he can barely remember what the man had said.

Luckily, Paul is there. He sits opposite of Merle and tells him the whole thing again in a calm, soothing voice. That Daryl is going to be okay. That the wounds he’d inflected on himself will heal. That there are scars all over his body that are much older than the start of the apocalypse.

That Merle had failed him, already, almost a decade ago.

The book is heavy in his hands.

_Treating survivors of child abuse_.

With a sigh, he gets up and walks out of the room, leaving Paul behind after thanking him quietly. He makes his way up the stairs and into the bedroom. Sits down on the bed.

Daryl is asleep.

Merle pulls the blanket down and stares at his back. Dark against his pale skin. Mark after mark after mark. Some curl around his hip to his front. He doesn’t doubt that there are more on his belly and chest.

His hands shake when he tucks his brother in again.

There’s no point in promising; _never again_ , because it’s already been done and he’d let it happen.

It doesn’t matter that he thought it was just him. That Will had hated him and that’s why he’d done it, because clearly; that hadn’t been the reason. Will had loved Daryl. But obviously not enough. Or in the right way.

And neither had Merle.

That changes now, he decides, because his baby brother is a broken mess, haunted by guilt and torture and demons with baseball bats and belts. Tomorrow, Merle will pick up a gun and try to help end some of them with his bullets.

Tonight, he will learn how to kill the rest.

He opens the book and starts to read.

 

 

 


End file.
